Unbreakable Bonds
by SGAFan
Summary: When Sheppard's team violates local custom, they find themselves in a fight for survival that teaches them all a little bit more the meaning of team, and just how far each of them will go to defend the others. Warning: Shep Whump/HC. K mild profanity.
1. Chapter 1

Written for the Sheppard H/C LJ Flashpic Challenge

_**Unbreakable Bonds**_

_**"He who is a leader must always act alone. And acting alone, accept everything alone."**_

_**~Ferdinand E. Marcos**_

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John circled warily, his eyes narrowing. Adrenaline, fueled by the coming fight, coursed through him, sharpening his senses and reflexes. He took a deep breath and tensed.

"You know I'm going to kick your ass, right?"

John straightened slightly, his expression turning annoyed. "I don't think that's a given."

Bemused, Ronon shrugged. "Whatever."

John pushed away his irritation and twirled the stick in his left hand. "I'm pretty good, you know," he insisted.

Ronon's quiet grunt might have been a chuckle, but it was hard to tell. "Didn't say you weren't. Just said I was going to kick your ass."

"Can we get on with this?" John shot back.

"Colonel Sheppard, please report to Ops immediately."

John lowered his sticks and looked up as the citywide hail ended. "Wonder what's up?" He glanced at Ronon, who only shrugged again. John turned away and set his Bantos Rods on a nearby bench, before grabbing his radio headset. He fit it over his ear and clicked it on. "This is Sheppard. On my way."

As he entered Ops, John, with Ronon right behind him, made a beeline for Rodney, who was typing away on his laptop, with Richard Woolsey looking over his shoulder. "What's up?"

Woolsey turned, making eye contact with him. "Colonel. Routine MALP reconnaissance of M5Y-962 has turned up some interesting results."

John stopped next to him. "M5Y-962…. Why does that sound familiar?"

Rodney looked up at him, his expression slightly cross. "This afternoon's off-world scout. We briefed on it just yesterday." Rodney waved his hands. "Vague references in the database to some sort of research being conducted there? Ring a bell?"

Slightly indignant, John looked at him. "I would've remembered."

Rodney snorted. "Sure." Before John could protest further, Rodney rushed on. "MALP's detected an energy reading. It's slight, but the signature is definitely Ancient. We widened the camera angle and found this." He pointed at the hanging display behind them.

John turned, his eyes narrowing for a moment, before he arched his brows. "Wow. That's a lot of sand."

Rodney's sigh sounded exasperated. "Yes, how original. Sand in a desert. What I mean is this…." He paused and typed a few commands. The view from the MALP obligingly shifted, focusing in on a weathered structure. Rodney got up and walked past John and pointed to the display. "MALP telemetry indicates that's the source of the energy reading. What's left of the architecture is definitely Ancient."

John squinted at the fuzzy image. "Looks in pretty bad shape."

"Yes." Again, Rodney's didn't bother to hide his irritation. "That's what ten thousand years of sandstorms will do to a building. But there's every indication that it's still structurally intact, which is encouraging as far as protecting any technology that might be in there."

John nodded. "So… worth checking out then."

"Would we be discussing it if it wasn't?" Rodney snapped.

John turned his head and just glared at him.

"Colonel Sheppard has a valid point," Woolsey interjected.

"Yes." Rodney sighed and gestured at the display again. "MALP indicates the temperature is already 32 degrees, and it's still morning, which means it's going to get a lot hotter. Trust me, I wouldn't be proposing a walk in that if it wasn't worth it."

John shrugged. "It's not that far…."

"Far enough!" Rodney snapped.

"Isn't 32 kinda cool for a desert?" John answered, deliberately baiting Rodney.

"Celsius! Celsius! Honestly Colonel, why your people insist on clinging to Fahrenheit and the Imperial System is beyond me!"

John glanced sideways at Rodney. "We do it to mess with your perfect world, McKay." Feeling smug, he smiled slightly.

Rodney glowered. "Oh, ha ha ha. Very funny."

"I assume," Woolsey interrupted smoothly, "that other than the energy reading, the planet checks out for the mission?"

Rodney turned his attention to Woolsey. "Yes. The atmosphere is breathable, if hot. No toxins or anything dangerous… that we can detect, anyway."

"What about indigenous people?" John asked, his gaze fixed on the fuzzy image from the MALP.

"Nothing the MALP can detect. If they're there, they're out of range and aren't technological."

"I'd be surprised if they were… technological that is," Woolsey answered.

John nodded absently. The technological races were few and far between in Pegasus, thanks to the Wraith. If anyone did live on that planet, they lived in a pretty harsh environment. "Wouldn't guess anyone lives there."

He glanced at Rodney, who scratched his head.

"Agreed. The Stargate is, obviously, functional. With so many temperate and still uninhabited planets in the galaxy, living there wouldn't make any sense."

"Colonel," Woolsey walked up next to John and stared at the screen for a minute, before turning his look on him. "Mission was set for 13:30 but…"

John picked up his thought. "I'm curious, too. Besides, it's already 90 degrees. It's only going to get hotter as the day goes on." He looked at Woolsey, who nodded.

"You have a go, Colonel."

John turned to the technician on duty. "Call Teyla, have her meet us in the armory." He headed for the back stairs, Ronon and Rodney right behind him.

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John emerged from the Stargate and winced as a hot wind immediately blasted his face. For a moment, he was reminded of his first encounter with the summers in Afghanistan; the arid climate felt almost the same to him. He squinted, before pulling out his sunglasses. Sliding them into place, he tapped his headset. "Atlantis, this is Sheppard. We're here."

"Acknowledged, Colonel," Woolsey responded. "Check-in scheduled for six hours. Earlier, if necessary. Woolsey out."

"Copy that. Sheppard out." John continued across the sand away from the gate leaving the sound of the disengaging wormhole behind him. The flat desert was broken by several dunes not far from them, forming almost a natural valley in which the ruins and the gate resided.

"Well," Rodney commented from right behind him, "this is just… lovely."

John frowned. "Okay, McKay, we get it. Not a vacation spot. So, let's just figure out if there's anything valuable here and then," he shrugged, "we can leave." He turned slightly to his left and headed straight for the weathered Ancient structure.

"Can't tell anything yet," Rodney answered, "but, I'm still tracking that energy reading." He pulled up next to John and kept pace with him. "Something is definitely drawing power in there."

"That is a good sign, is it not?" Teyla was walking right behind Rodney.

"Unless it's just lights, or something else entirely useless," Rodney answered, his attention glued to his scanner.

"You really should try to work on that pessimistic attitude of yours, Rodney," John replied.

"Oh, well, excuse me for not building up false hopes based on little or no facts!" Rodney snapped, looking up from his scanner long enough to fix John with a thoroughly infuriated look. He reached into his vest pocket and grabbed his own sunglasses. Slipping them into place, he squinted ahead. "Hmm… not encouraging…"

John glanced at Rodney. "What?"

Rodney pointed. "The door's huge and totally open. If all that sand has been blowing in there for ten thousand years…."

John's gaze followed Rodney's gesture and he sighed quietly. The entrance was at least ten feet across and stood wide open. Sand covered the floor as far as he could see into the dark corridor. Reluctantly, he conceded Rodney had a point, but he refrained from voicing that out loud. Instead, he pointed out, "Well, you're still getting energy readings though."

"True," Rodney admitted, "but we could be dealing with massive damage to the systems."

"Let's not make any assumptions until we know for sure," John insisted. He sniffed once as the brisk hot wind ruffled his hair, and reached up to wipe a trickle of sweat off his brow as he stopped in front of the entrance. He could see a few feet into the structure, but darkness shrouded anything beyond that.

"Sheppard."

John turned his attention towards where Ronon stood to one side of the doorway. Next to him, crumpled against what was once a smooth wall, were the remains of the door.

"Looks like it was closed at one point," Ronon observed.

John nodded. "Yeah." He flicked on the light on his P-90 and peered into the darkness for a moment. "Rodney? Anything?"

"Still picking up the energy reading," Rodney answered. "Nothing else."

"Any life signs?" John took a step forward.

Rodney snorted. "You've got to be kidding me. Who could live here?"

"I have known people who have survived in very harsh environments, Rodney," Teyla reasoned.

"With a functional gate that could take them anywhere? Why not just leave?" Rodney argued back.

"Perhaps they did not know where to go," Teyla suggested. "The knowledge of gate addresses may have been lost to them. My people have helped others resettle to better home worlds before."

"Hmm." Rodney's grunt was non-committal.

John glanced at him. "It doesn't have to be people, you know." He raised his eyebrows in question.

Rodney's expression was decidedly cynical as he punched a couple of keys on his detector. "Nope. You're good to go. No sign of some Pegasus man-eating desert predator, or any other life sign for that matter. I can't detect anything dangerous."

John nodded, slipped his sunglasses into his vest pocket, and slowly walked forward into the darkness. Rodney's assessment reassured him, but only to a certain point. He'd been in this galaxy long enough to always expect the unexpected. Scanning his light around, John determined they were in what looked like, a long hallway. As they progressed further in, the layer of sand on the floor continued to get thinner.

"Okay," Rodney's voice echoed slightly, "this is slightly encouraging. If any room housing the technology is far enough inside, then damage from the elements, mainly the sand, might not be so bad."

"See?" John answered as he led his team on down the hallway, "thinking positively is a good thing, Rodney."

"Yes. Thank you for the advice, Colonel Optimism."

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John stopped and turned a questioning look on Teyla. He followed her gun light to the walls. "What…?"

"That's interesting," Rodney muttered.

John nodded. He trained his light on the wall and followed the progression of what looked like paintings. The pictures were smooth and detailed, though weathered, and reminded John a little of the cave drawings in Lascaux that he'd seen on on the Discovery Channel. As he panned his light upwards, more paintings were visible higher up the walls. Each of them was a distinct scene, some with people, some with strange camel-like animals, and some with people hunting the animals. "Wow." He walked closer to the wall, fixing his light on one specific painting, set apart from the others and bordered in faded, yellow paint. "That looks like…."

"A Jumper," Rodney finished.

John moved his light across the wall, to drawings of people standing just behind the Jumper. More than just stick figures, the people were fleshed out with some level of detail, and each of them was surrounded with what looked like the artist's interpretation of an aura. Before them, dozens of people were on their knees, bowing. Each of the glowing beings' arms were raised in various poses, as if they were speaking to the masses.

"Somehow, I don't think the Ancients drew these," he quipped dryly.

"No way," Rodney whispered. "It looks like these people worshipped the Ancients."

"Thought the planet wasn't inhabited." Ronon stepped up behind John and looked over his shoulder.

"These are really old," Rodney answered. "The paint and colors are definitely worn. Just because this planet was inhabited at one time doesn't mean it is now."

John's gaze narrowed. "I thought the Ancients discouraged less developed peoples from worshiping them."

"They did," Rodney answered confidently, "but who knows what mythology these people came up with, once the Ancients were gone."

"There are many people who revere the ancestors, Rodney," Teyla commented quietly.

"It does not necessarily mean they worshipped them."

"Yeah, but somehow this," Rodney pointed at the painting, "feels more like worship than just reverence."

John's brows quirked as he silently agreed with Rodney. Backing up a step, he turned. "Come on." He continued down the hallway, his team right behind him.

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Mela had never seen their like, from the clothing to the strange devices each of them carried. He had no doubt that one of them, a man of imposing size, was a warrior: his bearing and mannerisms left no room for doubt. But what of the others? The woman? Not possible. The man that led them, he seemed to walk with the prowess and air of a warrior as well, but his words and casual speech made Mela doubt his eyes. Perhaps if he could cross Haka Staffs with that one, he would know for sure.

His eyes narrowed and his expression turned from curiosity to anger. The temple was sacrosanct: only the Interpreter could enter and then only for guidance, meditation and spiritual healing on the Holy Day. Yet these strangers had crossed the threshold and entered as if it was their right… as if the shrine and its secrets were theirs for the taking. Where were they from?

Mela's tension grew with his anger. They would pay for their sacrilege; the Interpreter would make sure of that. He, and only he, could call warriors into the temple to protect it and deal with violators. That was the only time any other could enter, and only warriors tested and sworn to the protection of the holy shrine were allowed. Mela's fury was blunted slightly by the thought that redemption was possible; he hoped the Interpreter would choose him as one of the defenders.

He edged back down the dune with an ease almost instinctive to one born of this world. The rough sand grated against his skin, but he paid it little attention. It was a way of life that his people embraced and accepted without comment. The discomfort borne by generations of his people would one day be measured. Mela would do his part to ensure they would not be found lacking in their commitment to the Ones Who Came Before, and to the vow his people held sacred above all else, including their lives.

Reaching the bottom of the dune, Mela stood and raced back to the tribe's camp as fast as his legs could carry him.

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Before long, the hallway ended in a large room containing several Ancient control panels. John stopped and looked around, while Rodney sidestepped him and walked to the closest panel.

"Now we're getting somewhere." Rodney stopped, looked down at the panel and then at his detector. "Hmm, not this one…." He stepped back and slowly walked towards the next panel.

"Not that one what?" John asked, as he walked towards the center of the room.

"The power reading. Not coming from that one." Rodney's voice was distracted, as he circled slowly, until he faced a panel on the far side of the room. "Ah ha!" Quickly, he crossed the empty space and headed around behind the console. "Hmm…."

John walked over to Rodney and stared at him for a moment. "Hmm?"

Rodney looked up and fixed him with a wilting glare. "Would you just **give** me a minute here?"

Unfazed, John just stared back at him for a moment, before shrugging. "Let me know when you have something more than just 'hmm.'" John walked away from Rodney and surveyed the room again. Just like in the hallway, the walls of the room were lined with more paintings. Many contained the same camel-like animal, and several of them depicted hunts and kill scenes. "Looks like this animal was pretty important to these people," he commented as he continued walking along the wall, his flashlight passing over more paintings.

"Yes," Teyla agreed. "In such an environment, it is likely this animal was the main source of food and sustenance to these people. It would make sense that it was a large part of their culture."

"Like the American Plains Indians and buffalo," Rodney remarked absently.

"Buffalo?" Ronon crossed the room to join them.

John waved dismissively. "Remind me to show you when we get back to Atlantis." He stopped, focusing in on more paintings set apart from the others. Again, several of the people were surrounded byauras, and many other people were on their knees before them. He reached out, lightly touching one of the figures with an aura. "These have to be Ancients." He panned his light along the wall and froze, the next scene chilling him to the bone. "Damn…." It was a scene of horror, with people lying on the ground and others running; what shocked him most were the unmistakable depictions of Wraith, some pursuing the fleeing people, others feeding upon victims, while Darts flew over head, some with beams culling more people. "Maybe these people were wiped out by culling."

"Maybe not," Ronon answered, from a few feet further down the wall. His light was focused on another painting. "Look."

John and Teyla joined him. Standing at the center of the painting, between the Wraith and the people, were more of what John assumed were Ancients. He looked at the next painting. The Ancients' hands were raised, with streaks of light shooting outward from the center of their palms, and the Wraith either lay dead or were fleeing. One Ancient's hands were aimed towards the sky, the streaks of light aimed at a Dart. John quirked his brows and pointed at the figure. "Interesting."

"Perhaps there is technology here that the Ancestors used to attack the Wraith?" Teyla voiced what John was thinking.

"That would definitely be worth knowing," John answered. He looked around. "Probably need to bring some archeologists and anthropologists back here at some point. They'd love this place."

He glanced at Ronon and did a double take, his eyes narrowing as he saw the big man stiffen, then sniff once, before looking at Teyla. For a moment, the two Pegasus natives shared wary expressions, before they started scanning around them.

John looked back and forth between them. "What is it?"

Ronon shook his head. "Not sure. Just a gut feeling."

"Yes," Teyla agreed.

John panned his light around the room. "Of what?"

Teyla turned towards him and made eye contact. "Being watched."

John's eyes widened and he quickly looked over his shoulder. "McKay? Life signs?"

Rodney's exasperated sigh preceded his words. "Oh for…."

"Now!" John barked, hardening his tone enough to kill the debate on the spot.

"Right." After a tense moment, Rodney responded. "Nothing."

John looked first at Teyla and then at Ronon, who shrugged before shaking his head. Neither of them seemed convinced of Rodney's verdict. John was torn. On one hand, he'd learned long ago to trust both their instincts but on the other….

"Crap."

John turned towards Rodney and shone his light on the console. "What?"

Rodney sighed. "There's massive damage to the database. I'm not sure we can recover any of this, in spite of the Ancients' incredible redundancy."

On edge, and feeling like the other shoe was about to drop square in his lap, John still focused on the mission. He walked over to Rodney. "You sure? Because it looks like there might have been something here that the Ancients used to fight the Wraith. If so, that'd be really nice to have."

"It doesn't look good. From what I can tell the database corruption is…."

"Sheppard!"

On the heels of Ronon's call, John heard the big man's weapon power up. Without thinking, John spun, bringing his P-90 to bear.

"Damn it!" Rodney exclaimed. "We've got life signs. At least a dozen, coming in from all directions!"

John turned slowly, panning his light around the room. "You're just detecting them now? Why?"

"I don't know!" Rodney grabbed the detector and punched a couple keys.

John shone his light upwards and froze. "Oh shit…." Far above them, railed ledges circled the room. On each of them were additional control panels, but that didn't worry John. What did were what seemed like doorways, spaced evenly apart, that appeared to lead further into the structure. He caught a flash of movement from one of them, but it was enough to identify it as human. With him and his team stuck on the low ground, whoever was up there could pick them off like shooting fish in a barrel. That is, if their intentions were hostile. John wasn't in the mood to wait around and find out. The fact that the people above were moving stealthily told him all he needed to know. "Ambush! Out! Now!" Reaching behind him, John grabbed Rodney's sleeve and shoved him towards the door. "Move!"

He backed into Rodney as the scientist stopped in his tracks and shouted,

"Problem!"

John turned and found himself facing a large group of natives, who seemed to have materialized from nowhere and who blocked the doorway, crossbows and crude looking blow pipes pointed at his team. "Whoa!" John froze, but didn't lower his gun. "Wait. We don't want to hurt anyone. If you want us to leave, we'll go."

The man standing in the front of the group took one step forward. His weatherworn face was stoic. "It is too late for that."

John didn't even have a chance to react as, suddenly, something that felt like a bee sting hit him in the back of the neck. He grunted and his vision blurred abruptly. Searing heat spread through his body, and he struggled to hold his weapon upright, but his arms wouldn't obey. His knees buckled, sending him unceremoniously to the ground; for a second, his gaze fixed on Rodney's still form, lying next to him, before darkness took him.

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Blackness turned to gray as unconsciousness faded. John groaned and moved slightly before peeling open his eyes. His head hurt, his mouth was dry, and he felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with a bottle of tequila… and lost. He unsuccessfully tried to brace his hands under him, but something stopped him. He looked down and found tight bonds crossing his wrists. He pulled at them experimentally, but they held fast. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he took stock of himself and discovered his TAC vest and weapons were gone. The natives had, apparently, been thorough in disarming his team while they were knocked out. Looking around, he saw rough uneven wood bars surrounded him on all sides, above and below.

_Caged and bound. Great…._

He peered through the bars at three other cages close by, each of them holding one of his team members. In the distance, he could see a large cluster of tents; there were a couple of tents nearer to them, but it seemed their cages were set away from the main encampment. Looking back at the other cages, he met Ronon's gaze. The Satedan sat silently against the side of his cage across from John, his expression dark and dangerous.

"You okay?"

Ronon nodded once, slowly, but said nothing.

To the left of Ronon's cage was the one holding Teyla. John watched for a second, and was reassured when she pushed herself up as well. He turned and looked into the cage right next to him and at Rodney's motionless form. "McKay? Rodney! Wake up."

Rodney stirred, and then rolled over on his back and blinked bleary eyes. "What the hell?" he croaked.

John's brows quirked as he folded his legs and sat. "I'd say we pissed these people off." He took a deep breath and, trying to ignore the hot sun beating down on him, twisted his wrists. The bonds held fast.

"You think?" Rodney snapped, as he pulled his knees under himself. Straightening, he hit his head on the top of his cage. "Nice." He glared at the bars above him. "They could at least give us room to stand."

"The last thing I remember is seeing the natives in the Ancient structure." Teyla's brows furrowed in confusion.

John moved his head side to side, grunting at the stiffness in his neck. "I think we got hit with tranq darts."

"So much for this place being uninhabited," Rodney groused. "Who in their right mind would live here, and what the hell do they want with us?"

John shrugged before glancing over his shoulder and doing a double take as a group of natives walked purposefully towards them. "I think we're about to find out." He fixed his gaze on the leader and was struck with recognition. It was the same man that had spoken to him inside the ruins.

John sat up a little straighter and stared the man directly in the eye as he approached. He quirked a brow as the man stopped in front of his cage and looked down at him. "Hi," John's voice was on the cold side of neutral, and he knew it, but damn it, they'd started this.

The man's gaze passed over each of them, before he again focused on John. "Who are you?"

John stared at him for a minute and considered his response. The man seemed tough; given the harsh environment they lived in, his instincts told him strength was a paramount trait amongst these people… and he listened to them. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, and this is my team. We're friendly explorers. We came through the Stargate, the ring…," he waved his hands, "thing." He paused, before hardening his tone. "Now, my turn. Why the hell did you attack us?"

The man's arched brow was the only thing that broke his stoic expression. "You are hardly in a position to be demanding answers, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard."

"Funny," John shot back. "I was going to say the same thing, because when our people don't hear from us, they're going to come for us…and you might not like that too much."

The man glanced to his left and, abruptly, one of the other natives took two quick steps up to Teyla's cage. Before John could say a word, the man pointed a crossbow at her head, the bolt only a few inches from her face.

Unwavering, Teyla stared silently at it.

John stiffened and looked back at the leader.

"Have care, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard," the man answered, his voice low and dangerous. "Your transgressions could easily mean death for all of you. Your people might kill all of us, but you will already be dead, and we will die knowing we have done our duty to Those That Came Before."

John took a deep breath and nodded once, curtly. "Point taken." His voice slightly less tense, he asked again, "Who are you?"

The man seemed to mull over John's words for a moment before he answered. "I am Rali, Interpreter of the Shun'at, one of the Seven Tribes of Gama. We guard the holy shrine against trespassers and protect it for the return of Those That Came Before."

"Oh great…," Rodney started, but a scathing glare from John silenced him.

John's gaze narrowed as he looked back at Rali. "The holy shrine is…?"

"Where we found you," Rali answered.

John exhaled loudly and dropped his head, his anger lessening. _Of all the… damn…._ After a minute, he looked up at Rali. "We didn't know," he tried to explain. "Look, we didn't mean to trespass or to violate your beliefs. Like I said, we're explorers. We had no idea it was holy ground to you," he added, to emphasize the point.

Rali sighed quietly, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. "The shrine is sacred to us. Those That Came Before defended us from the Evil Ones and drove them from our world, and we have never seen them again. Those That Came Before moved on to another existence, but our responsibility as a race is to guard and protect the shrine until the day they return to reclaim it. In the generations since their departure, we have never lacked in this duty, though many times others have come through the Ring to take what they want from the shrine. We have always dealt with them accordingly."

Rali stared hard at John for a moment before he continued. "Only the Interpreter may enter the shrine, unless its safety or sanctity is threatened. Then those warriors sworn to its protection, whose souls have been purified by the Trials, may enter, but only to defend it. Your transgression is nothing short of sacrilegious. For that, you must pay with your lives. That is the law of our people."

John sat forward. "Now hang on," he tried to reason. "I told you, we had no idea it was sacred, or we would've respected your wishes and left it alone. This was an innocent mistake. You can't just kill us for it."

Conflict crept into Rali's expression. "This has not happened before. Always the offenders have known the consequences, or had nefarious intent."

"We didn't know," John urged quietly, "and our intent was only exploration and knowledge." Rali turned away and looked out over the desert, but John's eyes never left him. "Rali," John sat forward and grabbed onto a bar of his cage with one hand, "we would've never entered your shrine had we known."

Rali didn't look back, but his voice still carried. "The spirits of Those That Came Before watch over us, and guard the Shezta herds we hunt to survive. To anger them is to risk the lives of all of our people. As their Interpreter, it falls to me to protect them, to be sure Those That Came Before keep us in their good graces. Transgressions against them must be dealt with. The survival of my people, and the oath we hold above everything else, demands it. You must all be purified and put to death. Immediately."

"Oh god…." Rodney's voice trailed off.

John's mind raced. There had to be a compromise; a way out of this that didn't mean death for his team. They were probably still hours from their scheduled check-in and possible rescue. From the look on Rali's face, he knew they didn't have hours to stall. He clenched his teeth. They hadn't survived more close calls than he could count only to die for supposedly desecrating some native's holy ground! He thought back over their conversation, looking for something… anything he could use to come to an understanding with the man.

"Rali." Teyla spoke gently but insistently. "Surely Those That Came Before would show compassion and understanding in a situation such as this?"

"The law is absolute," Rali responded. He turned and gave her a cold stare. "As a woman, you should remain silent in this."

Anger sparked briefly in Teyla's eyes, but her wisdom won out and she remained quiet.

John's gaze narrowed slightly at Rali's words. Combined with what else he'd said, John was positive these people had a deep, if rigid, code of honor. As their 'Interpreter', Rali led them, and was responsible for understanding their beliefs. The title he held, apparently, was literal. He interpreted what his people perceived as the will of The Ones That Came Before and, as their Interpreter and leader, he did what he could to ensure their survival.

John took a deep breath as he found that connection he was looking for… and only one solution presented itself. Strangely, he felt calm, as if the decision he was about to make didn't carry the weight that it did. "I lead this team," he stated quietly. "Anything that they do is my responsibility. As their leader, the blame falls on me. If you have to punish someone for this, punish me, but leave them alone."

"Wait… what?"

"Sheppard."

"John."

"Quiet!" John silenced his team's simultaneous protests sharply. He rarely spoke that way to any of them but, at this moment, the topic wasn't open for discussion. The last thing he needed when trying to convince Rali to believe him was for his team to cast doubt on his words. If this was going to work, he had to portray the same, rigid code of honor as Rali clearly held to: he led, and his leadership was absolute. "That's an order," he added for good measure. He looked back at Rali. "Well?"

Rali was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "The crime must be atoned for, but as unknowing strangers, this situation is unique. Leader to leader, your words have merit to me." He nodded. "Very well. The purification of your soul and your death will suffice. Once that is complete, your team will be released, but they must leave this world and never return."

John agreed with a curt nod of his own. "Deal."

Unfazed, Rali stared back at him for a moment. "Then prepare yourself, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. We will begin shortly." With that, he turned and led his people away.

"John, you cannot do this," Teyla's words immediately followed Rali's departure.

"I'm not going to sit by and let this happen, Sheppard," Ronon added, as he pulled on the bonds around his wrists.

Any other time, John would've been touched by his team's reactions, but right now he needed their cooperation and needed it fast, because he had the distinct impression this process was going to take place pretty quickly. He raised his bound hands, silencing Rodney before he could speak. "Stop. Just… stop." He sighed, stared and pointed at Ronon. "You won't lift a finger against these people. That's an order." He lowered his hands and his gaze passed over each of them. "I'm ordering all of you to go along with this. When I'm… when it's over and they let you go, you will go quietly and return to Atlantis." He took a deep breath. "There's no way out of this now. They're…," he paused before rushing on, "they're going to kill me, but I'm doing this so you can get out of here. If you can't take it as an order, then take it as…" He swallowed hard. "…a last request." He looked each one of them in the eye for a second, his gaze falling on Ronon last. "Please."

Anger burned in Ronon's eyes as he returned John's look with an intense, frustrated one of his own.

"There has to be something," Rodney whispered emphatically. "I mean, we can't just sit here and watch!"

"You can," John stared hard at Rodney, "and you will. Understood?"

Rodney's brows furrowed, his expression desperate. He looked away, before nodding once, sharply.

"Sheppard…." Ronon's voice trailed off as he stared hard at John.

John returned the look with a reassuring one of his own. "Kill a bunch of Wraith for me, okay?" He looked over his shoulder as Rali walked back towards him, a group of men behind him. John exhaled hard, pushing down the knots in his stomach and burying them under steeled resolve.

"Go safely, John," Teyla's voice was choked and her face full of emotion, "and may the Ancestors watch over you."

John drew in a deep and strengthening breath. "Go safely, Teyla." He looked up as several natives pointed crossbows at each of his team members, before another opened the top of his cage. Two men grabbed John by the arms, hauled him to his feet and pulled him out of the cage.

John staggered, but their grip on his arms kept him from falling. His legs were stiff, but he managed to walk between the men as they led him towards a lone tent, set apart from the community, that other natives were quickly stripping the cover off. By the time he arrived, all that was standing were four bare tent poles. They were solid and buried deep in the ground, each stretching up to cross with the others at the apex. The men marched John into the center between the poles and held him tightly as Rali walked up to him.

"Let me be clear, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. If you try to escape or resist this ceremony in any way, not only will you die, but your team will also be killed without hesitation."

John looked past Rali towards his team, and the three men standing with crossbows aimed at their cages. He looked back at the Interpreter. "Wouldn't dream of it," he quipped darkly.

"Your transgressions must be atoned for and your spirit purified by the desert." Rali explained. "Only then will your sacrifice be deemed worthy and you will be allowed to pass to the next life in payment for your sins in this one."

"Great. Sounds like a party," John answered.

A native walked up from behind Rali, drew a knife and quickly cut the bonds around John's wrists, apparently trusting that he'd give them no trouble.

John clenched his hands into fists and beat back the urge to spring into action, to fight for his life and his team's. He was surrounded by at least a dozen armed men, and each of his team were helplessly caged and facing the business end of more crossbows. Any resistance by him would end swiftly… and badly. Begrudgingly, he knew it. His jaw clenched as tight as his fists, but he remained still.

His gaze stayed locked on Rail's as the man with the knife grabbed the front of his BDU tunic and ripped it open, sending buttons flying, before roughly pulling it off. Two more men tied ropes around each of his wrists, and then wrapped the ropes around opposite poles, pulling his arms up parallel to the ground. The man with the knife then quickly cut away John's t-shirt.

Bound and helpless, John's gaze never left Rali's as the hot sun beat down on his bare back. "This is wrong, you know," he said quietly. "I'm doing this for my team, but it's still wrong."

Rali looked him square in the eye. "I have no choice, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. I will not risk the wrath of Those That Came Before. Without their good graces and their gift of the Shezta herds, my people would surely die."

John's lips pressed together in a tight line. Misguided or not, Rali's only wish was to protect his people and, ironically enough, a small part of John respected that. Movement caught his attention as a young man, barely more than a boy, walked towards him. John's gaze settled on the coiled whip in the young man's hands and he grimaced.

"This is Mela. He was the one that discovered your transgression. He very recently passed the Trials and is counted a true warrior of the tribe. The right of purification falls to him."

John returned his hard gaze to Rali as he made the connection between the whip in Mela's hands and Rali's words. "You're going to whip me?" He couldn't quite keep the disbelief from his voice. Dying was one thing, but this….

"Pain is the truest form of purification, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Pain knows no master, nor is it hidden by any intent, either noble or evil. Pain is a reflection of the true spirit."

John drew in a deep breath. "So is compassion," he muttered, but Rali ignored him. John watched as Mela—he decided the kid couldn't be more than sixteen—walked around behind him, letting the coils of the whip fall from his grasp and drag through the sand.

Arms bound tight, John clenched his fists, flexed his arms and braced his feet, mentally and physically preparing for the inevitable. His eyes slid shut and he took a deep breath, tensing, but all of his efforts didn't prepare him for the first slice across his back.

Grunting, John rocked forward against his bonds, and staggered as he stifled a cry of pain. After that, one lash blended into the next, and then the next, and the next, until it was all a blur of agony, relentless in its assault on him. His knees buckled as he tried to stay on his feet, but the abuse was unforgiving, unyielding, merciless and continual. Each lash, each spike of pain, stole his breath and strangled his voice into muted grunts that choked in his dry throat, until finally it stopped, leaving him clinging to a last shred of consciousness. His rubber legs were useless, and his own weight stretched his bound arms, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the fire of pain from his back. His head hung down and his breaths were labored and fast as sweat dripped off his face. Somehow, he registered footsteps approaching him, and he managed to lift his head. His vision was blurred, but he was able to make out the form of Rali, who stood before him.

"You bore it well," Rali said quietly, his voice holding no compassion. He raised his hand over John's head. "When the time is right, the desert will take you, and Those That Came Before will claim your spirit. In exchange, your transgressions are atoned for. Such is the way of our people." Without another word, Rali turned and left, leaving him hanging there. John swallowed hard, reflexively coughing weakly against his dry, scratchy throat as his tenuous hold on consciousness slipped. As if he was listening through a long tunnel, he barely heard Rodney's echoing voice.

"You **can't** just leave him there!"

John wanted to say something… anything to reassure his team, but he couldn't form the words, before the darkness took him.

----------------------------------------

Pain burned through Ronon's wrists, but still he fought his bonds, refusing to let them win, to let himself be bound and helpless for one second longer.

He growled and ceased struggling as the guard walked by once more, his pattern of movement predictable. It was something Ronon had noted and stored away in his head against the moment where he'd escape… when he'd need to know exactly where that guard was, so he could kill him.

Yet, even as Ronon made eye contact with the guard and shot him a look of death as he passed by the cages, he was conflicted. Whether he knew it or not, Sheppard had touched on a deep-rooted Satedan tradition, one that warriors embraced. Though he hadn't been mortally wounded at the time, Sheppard had still made his request a 'last' one. In Satedan culture, a dying warrior's last request was almost sacred, something his friends and comrades would always honor, even if it meant giving their lives to do so. Part of Ronon, pulled by that tradition, resisted his urge to fight; the rest of him, the Satedan warrior who regarded the bonds shared between comrades at arms to be that of brothers, looked for a loophole and found it and clung to it. Sheppard wasn't dead yet, so it wasn't really a dying request… and Ronon would be damned if he'd let it become one.

His gaze fixed again on Sheppard, slumped and hanging by his arms, limp and motionless. From this angle, Ronon could see flecks of red on his shoulders, arms and around his waist, but he knew the injuries were much worse. He'd sat there and watched stoically as his friend had been whipped repeatedly and mercilessly. Under the hot sun, injured, bleeding and without water, Sheppard wouldn't last long.

Ronon twisted his wrists, the glimmer of a dark smile barely turning up one side of his mouth as the bonds loosened, if only slightly. The natives had been thorough in their search for weapons while he'd been unconscious and, for the first time in a long time, he found himself completely unarmed. Not that it mattered: knives or no knives, he still was lethal if he had to be… and this was one of those days.

"God," McKay whispered. "How can they just… leave him there? It's inhumane!"

"He… he will not live long in such a condition," Teyla answered quietly.

Ronon focused his attention on Teyla, just in time to watch her turn her head away from Sheppard. "Then we escape," he said quietly but confidently, "grab Sheppard, get out of here, and wait for backup."

"How do you propose we do that, Conan?" Rodney snapped quietly, before he lifted his hands. "Sort of bound, caged and disarmed here!"

Ronon silently stared back at him for a moment, and then smiled slightly. He twisted his wrists again. "Don't plan on stayin' that way."

"John ordered us to do nothing. To return to Atlantis," Teyla interjected softly.

Ronon slowly turned his head and looked at her. "Is that what you want? To wait and watch while Sheppard hangs there and dies, before returning to Atlantis safely?"

Teyla's gaze hardened with resolve. "No," she answered flatly. "It is not. I would rather die trying to escape as a team than to live knowing that I left my friend and team mate behind to suffer and die to protect my… safety." She spat the last word out almost with contempt. "I will not face my mate, or my son, having done such a thing."

Ronon smiled slightly and nodded to her.

"Yes, well, can we have this conversation without discussing dying in every sentence?" Rodney interrupted in an emphatic whisper.

Teyla looked at him. "It is a very real possibility, Rodney. Once we commit ourselves to this course of action, we must escape, or die trying."

"Again, with the death thing," Rodney groused.

"Rodney…," Teyla started.

Rodney raised his bound hands. "I get it." He sighed. "Well, are we going to do this or not?"

"As soon as I get free," Ronon answered, as he continued working against his bonds.

"As much as I do not want to leave John in such a condition a second longer than necessary, our chances for success would be better under the cover of darkness." Teyla sighed and looked back towards Sheppard, her brows furrowing in concern.

Ronon clenched his teeth in frustration, but he knew she was right. They couldn't do anything in daylight: they were too exposed to have any chance at success… and they'd only get one chance at this. He nodded sharply. "Dark," he muttered.

---------------------------------

_The hot sun burned him, but John struggled on, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other. He had to get out of this desert, back to base… back to safety. He fell to one knee and paused, trying to catch his breath._

_"You can't give up, you know." _

_John looked over his left shoulder, his gaze meeting a friendly one staring back at him. He blinked hard, and stared again, trying to believe what his eyes were seeing. "Holland?" _

_"Hey buddy." Holland smiled slightly._

_"What the hell are you doing here?" John croaked, before pushing himself to his feet. He continued walking, Holland right beside him._

_"Hell of a question to ask, Shep," Holland answered. "I'm always here, you know that." _

_John's brows furrowed at Holland's cryptic answer, but he couldn't seem to find the words to question him, so he just nodded, absently._

_"You know," Holland spoke again, "you confuse the crap out of me." _

_"What?" John staggered and felt Holland's strong hand on his arm. He looked up at his friend._

_"You," Holland repeated. "Since when is your life worth any less than anyone else's? Mine? Your team's?"_

_John pulled his arm free and started walking again. "Being cryptic isn't your style, Mark," he answered, annoyed. "Spit it out." _

_"Fine," Holland again grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Didn't it ever occur to you that your team would rather risk their lives along side you than watch you die?" _

_Anger surged through John. "They're my team," he retorted. "I lead them. That makes them my responsibility."_

_"Jesus Christ, John!" Holland let go of him and stepped back. "Where the hell did you find the "I" in Team?" _

_"Hell of a thing for you to say," John shot back, "or have you forgotten about the Dasht-i-Margo?" _

_Holland's expression instantly cooled and he looked away. _

_"I thought so." John took a deep breath. "It's why I defied orders and came back for you, when you crashed in that hellhole, buddy. I've watched too many members of my teams die and every time…." He looked away for a moment, before fixing Holland with an intense stare. "It's why I'm doing this for my team now. If they're in trouble, it's my job to get them out, even if they don't agree with how I do it. They're my team." He took a deep breath. "Yeah," he nodded, "we watch each other's backs, but when the chips are down, their safety is my responsibility and mine alone. That's what it means to be their leader."_

_After a moment, one side of Holland's mouth turned up. "I know." He looked back at John. "So, don't you think you should stick around so you can keep watchin' their backs?"_

_John's brows furrowed as Holland's form faded from existence. "Holland?" He looked around. "Mark?"_

John's back was on fire, the pain searing even through unconsciousness, pulling him awake. Drawings in a breath of hot air, he coughed weakly, forcing his limp legs to strengthen and take the weight off his arms. Staggering, he fell forward against the ropes, his own momentum causing him to sway as he struggled to get his feet under himself again. The ropes cut into his wrists, but that pain was muted by the scorching intense agony from his back. He groaned, winced and licked his parched lips with a tongue that was sticky and dry in its own right. He swallowed painfully and coughed again.

"John?"

Distantly, he heard Teyla's voice break on his name. He wanted to shout back to her, reassure her that he was okay, that everything was fine, but all he could manage was a groan.

"Be strong, John!"

He slowly lifted his head, grimacing against the burned skin on the back of his neck. His vision doubled, but he focused, barely making out the blurry cages in the near distance. He blinked hard, concentrated, and slowly the six cages became three. He could see each of his team members staring intently at him from inside them. "Tey…la," he whispered. His head dropped again and his gaze lost focus, the blur of sand underneath him becoming even more indistinct, almost hypnotically so. He drew in a hoarse breath of hot air before exhaling: breathing was the only thing he was strong enough to do… and a task he wouldn't surrender.

---------------------------------

"His condition is grave." Teyla's voice was soft as she kept her gaze fixed on Sheppard.

Ronon stared at Sheppard's limp form. His eyes narrowed as he willed strength to his friend. "He'll hang on," he answered. "Until we can get to him, he'll hang on."

"He is badly injured, and the sun, heat and lack of water are only making it worse." Teyla paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "He knows that once he is dead, we will be allowed to leave." She bowed her head. "He has no reason to prolong this."

"He'll live," Ronon repeated. He tuned out the pain coming from his raw wrists and continued working on his bonds. He twisted hard and grimaced. "He's too stubborn to die." He looked first at Rodney and then Teyla. "Sheppard never gives up." He stared at Teyla and, after a moment, she nodded silently.

"I don't care how much willpower he has, he's still human," Rodney answered. He rattled the top of his cage experimentally. "He's been out there for at least a couple hours. We've got to get to him soon."

Teyla looked up. "The sun has dropped, but the day is not over."

"Great," Rodney muttered. "So dark could be an hour away, or six. Knowing our luck, we visited during the longest days of the year."

"We do not know that, Rodney." Teyla shifted her legs to ease them. "These could be the short days."

"I **know** that," Rodney snapped. "Just… feel long," he grumbled. "How long has it been anyway? If Atlantis doesn't hear from us after six hours, they'll come investigate."

"I have lost track of time, but it must be close to our check in," Teyla answered. "Perhaps reinforcements from Atlantis will make Rali see reason and release John."

"Doubt it," Ronon answered. "Think these people would die for their beliefs."

"Yes," Teyla admitted. "I fear that you are right."

"Uhh… Teyla?" Rodney's voice was hesitant. "Which way is the gate from here?"

Ronon stared hard at the hesitant look on Rodney's face for a moment, before following his gaze, which was fixed on a dark brown smudge on the horizon. It almost looked like a rainstorm, but the different tones of color, ranging from tan to nearly black, disproved that. Ronon's gaze narrowed. In his seven years running, he'd come across desert planets before; with dark clarity, he knew exactly what he was looking at. "Sandstorm," he muttered.

"Let me guess," Rodney pointed towards the storm, "the gate's that way?"

Teyla sighed. "Yes."

"Wonderful." Rodney's hands dropped to his lap. "Our screwed meter just went up by a factor of ten."

"It may miss us, Rodney," Teyla reasoned.

Rodney sat up straighter, banging his head on the top of the cage. He sent the offending bars a withering glare, before he looked back at Teyla, his expression far from patient. "Don't you get it?" He kept his voice low, but it was still intense. "If that thing is anywhere near the gate, then even if Atlantis dials in it'll interfere with radio communication."

Teyla arched a brow as Rodney waved emphatically. "We do not have our radios anyway, Rodney."

"They don't know that! So, as far as their concerned, the most reasonable explanation is that we took shelter in the ruins and just can't communicate." Rodney's shoulders sagged. "They have no reason to assume we're in trouble. And even if they suspect anything else is wrong, they can't send a jumper into that." He jerked his bound. hands in the direction of the storm. "They're going to wait this one out before sending any help!"

"We do not know that for sure, Rodney," Teyla answered quietly.

"Care to take a bet on it?" Rodney snapped. "It's the most reasonable explanation. In spite of our infamous reputation for getting into trouble, Woolsey isn't the knee-jerk-reaction kind of guy in stuff like this. He'll wait it out."

"Hey," Ronon cut off their discussion and tilted his head towards a group of natives approaching their cages. The one in the front had a large water skin slung over his shoulder, and a crude looking cup in his hand. He stopped next to Ronon's cage.

"It is a hot day. The Interpreter has sent us to give you water to help sustain you until your departure."

Ronon ignored the tacky dryness in his mouth and nodded his head towards Sheppard. "Give him some first."

The man looked over his shoulder at Sheppard, before returning his gaze to Ronon. "No. He is not to have any."

Ronon's lips curled back in a sneer as rage flowed through him. "Then I'm not taking one drop from you," he spat. "Not until he drinks."

"The sun is high today," the man tried to reason. "You need water."

"Tell that to my friend!" Ronon surged forward, slamming his face against the bars of the cage and causing the men to take a reflexive step back.

The man with the water skin looked past Ronon to Teyla, who shook her head, and then finally to Rodney who, with a resigned sigh, also shook his head.

The man nodded once, curtly, and walked away, his group right behind him.

"As noble a gesture as that was," Rodney whispered, "we **are** eventually going to need water."

Ronon nodded. "Once we get Sheppard free, we'll find water." His gaze narrowed but never left Sheppard's still form. "Once we get him free," he repeated quietly.

--------------------------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

Richard Woolsey walked across the short bridge between his office and Ops. Stopping in front of one of the main control panels, he met the technician's friendly gaze. "Amelia, any word from Colonel Sheppard's team?" He knew she would've called him had the colonel made contact, but still, it felt right to ask.

"No, sir," Amelia answered. "It's been six hours and," she looked down at her laptop, "fifteen minutes."

Richard nodded. He knew the time, but appreciated her thoroughness. "The colonel isn't known for his punctuality. Just once though, I wish he could at least make an effort to be on time." He sighed. "Dial M5Y-962 please." He turned around, walked out to the balcony and rested one hand on the top railing, watching the gate as each chevron lit and then the wormhole flushed into existence.

"Channel open, sir," Amelia informed him.

Richard tapped his headset. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Atlantis. Please respond." He waited a moment, his gaze narrowing at the silence. "Colonel Sheppard," he repeated, "this is Atlantis calling for our scheduled check in. Please respond." As the silence lingered, he looked back at Amelia, who shrugged.

"The signal is getting through, sir."

Richard looked back at the wormhole. Lack of punctuality was one thing, but Sheppard never flat out missed a check in unless something was wrong. He turned towards the second technician and paused, drawing a blank on the man's name. _Why can't I ever remember…? _He pointed vaguely. "Hail Major Lorne. Have him report to Ops immediately."

"Chuck," the technician muttered, before he activated communications.

"Amelia," Richard returned his attention to the female technician, "can you connect to the MALP?"

Amelia nodded. "Yes. Just a minute, sir." Her brows furrowed as she typed several commands. "Stand by, sir. I'm having problems establishing a link."

Richard walked around behind her and stared at the hanging display, his patience thinning as a sense of wrongness started to flush through him. He was about to turn to Amelia when the display flashed, before settling on the MALP telemetry. He arched his brows. "I can't see anything." He looked back at Amelia.

"I don't know what's wrong, sir." She turned back to her laptop. "We're receiving the signal. I can run a diagnostic."

"You don't have to."

Richard's gaze left Amelia and focused in on Major Lorne, who was crossing ops, his sights set on the brown, fuzzy display. "Major?"

Lorne pointed at the display. "It's a sandstorm. That's why you can't see anything."

Richard looked back at the telemetry. "Are you sure?"

Lorne chortled quietly. "Yep. Spent some time in and out of Ahmed Al Jaber, and all over Kuwait. I know a sandstorm when I see one."

"Could that be interfering with communications?" Richard looked first to Lorne and then Amelia. Both of them nodded.

"Damn straight," Lorne answered. "Always gave us hell in the desert." His gaze narrowed slightly. "Colonel's team missed their check in?" he asked.

Richard nodded. "We've been unable to hail them." He turned and faced Lorne. "Is it possible they took shelter and can't communicate with us because of the storm?"

"Yes, sir," Lorne agreed, though his expression suggested he wasn't convinced. He shook his head. "But I don't like not knowing that for sure. I mean, why didn't they just return to Atlantis?"

"Perhaps it came on too quickly." Richard doubted the validity of his own words. He looked at the active wormhole for a second, before turning his attention back to Lorne. "Is it possible to fly a Jumper in that?"

Lorne sighed. "Possibly, yeah, but I don't know for sure. Stuff's always grounded in that crap. The Jumpers are definitely more advanced, but I don't know if they can take that or not."

"It's likely sir," Amelia interjected, "that the Jumper sensors would be useless regardless of whether it can fly or not."

"So even if you were able to fly in it," Richard concluded, "if Colonel Sheppard's team isn't in the ruins, you'd be blind and without communications, looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack?"

"They must've taken cover in the ruins," Amelia added. "It's the only source of shelter around."

"Then it's likely," Richard followed the argument to its logical conclusion, "that they simply can't communicate with us because of the storm?"

"Likely," Lorne admitted.

Richard's gaze narrowed at Lorne's hesitant expression. "I don't like not knowing for sure any more than you do, Major, but the most reasonable assumption is that they're safe. Until we know something to the contrary, it's too risky to send anyone else." He paused before going on. "I believe that Colonel Sheppard would agree with me."

Lorne pressed his lips together before nodding. "Yeah," he admitted. He added again, "I just don't like not knowing."

"Neither do I, Major." Richard looked at Amelia. "Shut down the gate." He returned his attention to Lorne. "I don't suppose we have any idea how long this could last?"

Lorne shook his head. "Sandstorms on Earth can be really localized and last anywhere from a half hour to several hours. Here? No idea."

Richard smiled thinly at Amelia. "Dial M5Y-962 every thirty minutes until the storm passes. When it does, please notify myself and Major Lorne immediately."

"Yes, sir," Amelia answered.

----------------------

_Water!_

John's breathing was hoarse, but still he forced hot air into his lungs, and out… in and out, the rhythm giving his scattered mind something to focus on as his body screamed for water.

_"Why are you doing this, sir?"_

_The sand felt hot and rough under his hands and John shifted his weight back on his knees. He braced his hands on his thighs and looked up. For a moment, disbelief silenced him as he stared at the young man looking dispassionately back at him. He found his voice. "Ford?"_

_For a minute, a wide playful smile split Ford's mouth. "Yes, sir." _

_John lifted one shaky arm. "Want to give me a hand here, lieutenant?"_

_Abruptly, Ford's smile disappeared. "No, sir." _

_John's hand dropped. "What?" He shifted his weight and struggled to rise, only to pause as Ford put a strong, restraining hand on his shoulder, pushing him down._

_"Don't, sir. Just let go."_

_"I can't." John pushed against Ford's grip._

_"Why are you doing this?" Ford asked quietly., "As soon as you're dead, your team is free. That was the deal. So why are you hanging on?" Ford let go of John's shoulder and knelt next to him. "It's not so bad, you know, dying." A bittersweet smile crossed his face. "So why don't you just let go? Stop torturing yourself." _

_John's brows furrowed as Ford's words gave him pause to consider. "I… I can't." _

_"Why?"_

John shook his head. "I… don't know. I just… can't." His emotions churned and he looked up at his friend, his teammate… another black mark he carried. "I never gave up on you, Aiden."

_Slowly, Ford's mouth turned up in a small smile. "I know, John," he answered quietly. "Let go," he insisted._

_John's gaze narrowed as Ford's image dissolved. "Ford?"_

_"You bloody well better not let go!" _

_John's head jerked to the right and settled on a hand extended out to him. His gaze traveled up the arm and body before reaching Carson's intense gaze. _

_Carson impatiently pushed his hand at John. "You still got life in you, lad, and I damn well expect you to hang onto it." _

_John took his hand and found strength in Carson's confident grip…._

John's blurred gaze focused on a long shadow that appeared just inside his line of sight. He blinked hard and coughed weakly as coherent thought battled with incoherent.

"He still lives. The desert has not taken him yet."

_Rali…_ John forced his head up. Shaking with the effort, he still managed to look Rali square in the eyes. Then his weakened muscles gave in and, with a grunt, he let his head fall to his chest.

"Night comes, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. I hope for your sake that Those That Came Before take you before the sun rises on another day," Rali's words were quiet.

John felt like he'd swallowed sand paper, but willpower drove his words. "Go… t' hell…." He watched as the shadow disappeared. Retreating into himself, John focused on his breathing, his gaze once more fixed on the sand.

----------------------------------------------

Ronon smiled, confident the darkness would hide his triumph as he yanked his hands apart. "I'm free," he muttered.

"About time." Rodney's voice was barely above a whisper. "Only took you another three hours…**after** it got dark."

Ronon looked around, double-checking to make sure there was no one close by, before he reached up and pushed on the top of his cage. "Next time, you can get loose if you think you can do it faster," he replied. Reaching through the bars, he found the tough, thick strand of rope that bound his cage closed. Pulling at the knot, Ronon started working it loose.

"Can you get out?" Teyla asked.

Ronon nodded. "Yeah, but we've only got a couple minutes before that guard circles back." He started in on the rope again. "If I can get free, I can follow the guard, kill him, take his weapons, come back and free you two."

"Oh lovely. And all just that easy, I assume?" Rodney's voice was decidedly cynical.

Ronon refused to be baited. "Yep." He kept working on the rope.

"We're not going to have time to get Sheppard loose and get out of here before the villagers realize we're gone," Rodney insisted.

Ronon worked the knot free. "We will if I kill the guard quietly."

Rodney blanched. "True."

"Ronon," Teyla's quiet voice hailed him.

Ronon immediately sat back and crossed his hands in his lap. With the darkness only broken by distant, flickering torchlight, he appeared to still be tied, unless the guard chose to scrutinize him further, something Ronon thought was highly unlikely. He remembered how boring and monotonous guard duty could be. Without a good reason, the sentry wouldn't give him more than a cursory glance as he walked his path. Ronon leaned back against his cage and was silent.

Passing near the cages, the guard barely looked at him, before continuing on his way.

Ronon waited a few moments longer, only moving when he was sure the guard had gone on. Sitting up, he quietly opened the top of his cage. He stepped out and straightened. "I'll be right back."

"What if someone comes by and sees that you're gone before you get back?" Rodney whispered.

"Play dumb?" Ronon answered, thinking of something Sheppard would say.

Predictably, he got the same kind of reaction out of Rodney, who snapped,

"Very funny." back at him.

Ronon turned and headed the guard. He had an idea of the sentry's route, but wasn't certain. So he quietly followed as the guard walked back towards the main camp, behind several tents and out to the further perimeter of the camp. Ronon knew he'd have to choose his moment carefully; when the guard stopped and looked out across the desert, Ronon knew his chance had come.

With a silence belying his size, Ronon silently approached the guard and grabbed him from behind. Without a moment's hesitation, he seized the man's head and twisted hard, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. Noiselessly, the guard went limp in his grasp.

Ronon slowly eased him to the ground and grabbed the crossbow and all the bolts the man carried. A quick pat down of the body produced two knives and a waterskin on a long strap. He hung the waterskin across his shoulders, slipped the knives into his tunic, and hurried back to Teyla and Rodney. Working quickly, he cut the binding straps on each cage, before cutting the bonds on each of his team member's wrists to free them. Then he handed Teyla one of the knives.

"What about me?" Rodney whispered.

Ronon just silently looked at him and, after a moment, Rodney sighed in resignation.

"Right. Good point."

Ronon started towards Sheppard's position, Rodney right behind him and Teyla on the six. He kept an eye on the camp but resisted the urge to look behind him as Rodney went on whispering.

"Where is everyone?"

"Most appear to be inside," Teyla answered.

Ronon raised his hand, stopping them so all three could crouch in the shadows as a couple of tribesman walked amongst the tents. "Not everyone."

"This is crazy." Rodney shifted his feet as he knelt behind Ronon. "We're going to get caught."

"Sheppard's right," Ronon answered quietly. "You do need to be more optimistic."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you," Rodney shot back.

Ronon refrained from replying. Instead, he eased back to his feet and led them through the shadows.

_John's knees buckled and he fell unceremoniously to the ground. The hot grit of sand scratched his cheek, but felt warm and somehow comforting. His body went limp and his eyes slid shut._

_"Ach no! You're not doing this, Colonel. Now get up!"_

_John peeled his eyes open and focused his gaze on a set of standard Atlantis-issue boots. He squinted and rolled on his back, his gaze travelling up to meet with Carson's determined expression._

_"You're not doing this on my watch, lad." Carson pointed at John. "Up!" _

_John inhaled deeply. He could feel his strength seeping out of him into the warm sand. "Can't…" he whispered, "tired…." _

_"Yes, you can," Carson insisted. "You have to." _

_John closed his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his head, something nagged at him, something… insistent, something that held onto him with rugged tenacity; something he couldn't shake._

_"Aye," Carson's voice softened, "that's it. You're a survivor, John, you always have been. It's no different this time."_

"Teyla… Ronon… Rodney," John whispered, memories coming back to him. "They're… safe. Have to do this… for them."

_"No." Carson answered flatly. "Do you really think they'll just leave peacefully? Ronon? Teyla? Even Rodney?" Carson squatted and looked him in the eyes. "Do you think any of them could live with themselves if they let this happen to you?"_

_"Leader… my… responsibility. I die… they live." John managed. Warmth permeated his body and, God, it felt so good, so… inviting._

_"John!"_

_Carson's shout pulled him back and when John managed to raise his eyelids, he found he couldn't tear his gaze from the intensity that radiated from Carson's ice blue eyes. _

_"Who will watch over them if you die?" Carson asked quietly. Slowly, a smile formed on his lips. "They're coming for you. Just like you would for them. They're your team, John. They'd never leave you to die. So the question is: are you going to fight or not?"_

_John drew in a deep breath. Deep down a small voice called to him. Carson was right. John might be willing to sacrifice himself for his team, but that didn't mean his team would let him…_

… _and who would watch out for them if he couldn't? Groaning, he pushed himself up on his elbows._

_Carson's smile widened. "That's it." He reached out. "Now, take my hand!"_

----------------------------------------------------

Stopping in front of his friend, Ronon's brows furrowed. Sheppard was limp and motionless, his body hanging from his arms, his legs barely taking any weight.

Teyla gently lifted his head. "John?" she whispered.

Sheppard's swollen eyes slowly opened, but his gaze was unfocused and his eyes were glassy. Tension rippled through his body and he shivered as what looked like a chill shot through him.

"He can't possibly be cold!" Rodney whispered intently.

"He is not," Teyla affirmed. "He is still very hot and needs water." She cradled Sheppard's face in her hand and held his head up. "He is in shock."

"Heatstroke?" Rodney whispered.

Teyla nodded. "At least."

Another spasm tensed Sheppard's body and he groaned quietly. "Crson…" he slurred, "w…won't… quit… watch… thr backs…."

Ronon handed his crossbow to Rodney, and pulled the waterskin strap over his head. He popped the lid open, and gently dribbled some water on Sheppard's cracked lips.

For a moment, Sheppard didn't respond, but then his tongue passed over his lips and his groan was urgent. Ronon poured a small bit of water into Sheppard's mouth and the colonel's lips immediately closed before he swallowed hard.

"Sheppard," Ronon whispered. "We have to move."

Sheppard's expression cleared slightly, and his nod was jerky as another shiver gripped him. "Gave… or…dr…"

"Yeah, well, we'll argue that later," Rodney answered as he looked around.

Ronon capped the waterskin and looped the strap back over his head, before he pulled the knife from his tunic and quickly cut one of Sheppard's arms free.

Sheppard groaned in pain as his arm dropped.

Without a word, Teyla stepped forward and took his arm across her shoulders, bearing his weight while Ronon cut his other arm free and looped it over his shoulder.

Sheppard's knees buckled, but Teyla and Ronon held fast to him.

"No way he can walk." Ronon held tightly to Sheppard, and turned to face him. "I'll carry him."

Teyla looked at him for a moment. "Are you sure you can?"

Ronon quirked his brows. "Yep." He crouched and, with Teyla's help, laid Sheppard's body over his shoulders. He straightened with a quiet grunt and shifted Sheppard's weight into what the colonel called a fireman's carry.

"R…non… no…." Sheppard's voice was scratchy and barely above a whisper as he moved feebly in Ronon's grasp.

Ronon turned his head towards Sheppard's. "Easy buddy," he answered softly.

"We must hurry," Teyla urged, as she took the crossbow from Rodney. Holding it tight, she led them away from the camp.

"It won't take them long to figure out what happened.," Rodney followed behind Ronon.

"We must find a place where we can tend to John and defend ourselves if necessary," Teyla answered.

"The ruins." Ronon shifted Sheppard's weight and tightened his grip. "And I've still got more water for him."

"As much as I'm **so** into self sacrifice, we're all going to need water soon," Rodney pointed out

"John needs it more than we do." Teyla gave him a hard look.

"Yes," Rodney snapped, "I get that. But we're no use to him dead from dehydration!"

"What are you saying, Rodney?" Teyla asked.

"There has to be some source of water close by. Rali's people couldn't survive without it, and it stands to reason they'd make their camp close to it."

"Too close for us to risk," Ronon grunted.

"As opposed to charging blindly into a sandstorm with Sheppard half dead and one waterskin between us?" Rodney shot back.

"It has been several hours, Rodney." Teyla's voice was slightly exasperated. "The storm very well might have passed."

"If it had, then Woolsey would've already sent help and they would've already found us by locking in on our transmitters." Rodney drew up next to Ronon. "Even if we could get to the gate, in case you haven't noticed, we don't have radios or GDOs. There's no way we could let Atlantis know that it's us dialing in." The moonlight illuminated his features, showing the intensity of his expression. "We need water and, like Teyla said, a place to defend ourselves until Atlantis finds us."

Ronon stopped and stared hard at Rodney for a moment but, as much as he wanted to charge back to the Stargate and get Sheppard back to Atlantis as soon as possible, he had to admit that Rodney was making a lot of sense. The Stargate was a long way off and without water, radios or GDO's…. "You're right," Ronon admitted quietly.

"Damn straight I am," Rodney retorted.

"McKay," Ronon growled, but his reply was cut off by Teyla's quiet but urgent voice.

"Someone is out there." Her voice was low.

Ronon crouched and eased Sheppard onto the ground. He nodded at Rodney. "McKay?"

Rodney knelt behind Sheppard and supported him, keeping his burned and mangled back off the coarse sand.

"Whoever it is, do not kill them," Teyla whispered.

"She's right," Rodney affirmed. "They might know where water is."

Ronon drew in a deep breath. These people had captured them, tortured his friend and left him for dead. In his mind, they didn't deserve any quarter from him… but they needed water, and they needed information to survive, and whoever this was might be able to give them that. He nodded once, before turning away and cautiously walking towards where he knew, instinctively, someone was. As he drew closer, he could hear the man's feet in the sand, heavy and even, the stride unsuspecting in its cadence. Before the stranger had a chance to react, Ronon leapt forward, grabbing him by the throat. He dropped two large skins of water as his hands flew to Ronon's and clawed at them.

Ronon grunted as his captive kicked him hard in the leg. Exasperated, he lifted the man almost all the way off the ground. The captive's struggles weakened as Ronon's grip choked him. Ronon pulled him closer, his face scant inches away. His gaze narrowed as he recognized Mela's features in the moonlight. "Keep struggling and I'll kill you."

Mela stilled, his wide eyes locked on Ronon's.

Slowly, Ronon lowered him down. He spun the young man around and twisted one of Mela's arms behind him. He smoothly drew his knife and pressed it against Mela's throat. "Move," he snarled, setting Mela marching back to his team mates.

Teyla relaxed her stance when she recognized Ronon, and lowered her crossbow. Her gaze settled on their captor. "Mela."

Ronon motioned with his head towards where he'd found Mela. "There's two large waterskins back there, not far."

Teyla nodded once and trotted past him to retrieve them.

"Why are you doing this?" Mela's voice wavered slightly. "We would have let you go once your leader's sacrifice was complete." His tone hardened slightly. "We are a people of honor. Our word is binding."

"Well," Rodney's voice was acerbic as he held Sheppard, almost protectively, "forgive us for **not** being willing to sit around and watch Sheppard suffer and die to satisfy your archaic religious beliefs about a race of people who were only slightly less human than you are… though in your twisted, ruthless case, they were probably a lot **more** human than you are!"

"McKay," Ronon warned as he felt Mela tense under his grasp. Ronon tightened the blade against Mela's neck and the young man stilled, but the tension was still there. "Where's the water?" Ronon demanded.

"I will not help you," Mela spat.

Ronon pressed the blade tighter and drew a small amount of blood on Mela's neck. "Then you're of no use to us," he answered darkly.

"Ronon."

Ronon turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on Teyla as she walked back towards him, the two waterskins slung over her shoulders.

She stopped next to him and stared for a long moment at Mela, before she fixed her gaze on Ronon's. "Do not kill him."

"Why not?" Ronon shot back, his hatred strong. "He's just as responsible as Rali for what's happened to Sheppard!"

"He is only a boy," Teyla answered quietly.

"I am a warrior of the tribe, woman," Mela spat, "and counted as a man!"

Teyla turned an impassive look on Mela. "If we believed that, we would kill you for the threat you pose to our survival." Her gaze narrowed. "This is not an argument you want to win… boy." She returned her gaze to Ronon. "He took no effort to hide his tracks. We can follow them to the water source easily enough."

Ronon still held tightly to Mela, his anger only slightly dampened by Teyla's words. "He'll just go back and warn the tribe."

Teyla cocked her head. "Do you think they do not already know that we have escaped?" She looked around. "I traded with people such as this before. Some of the finest spices in the galaxy come from desert worlds." She looked back at him. "It is very likely they have built a structure around their water source to protect it. If so, that will provide us with water, shelter and a defensible position to await rescue."

"I vote for the water and defensible position, if we're counting," Rodney piped in.

Teyla stared at Ronon a moment longer, before she walked over to Sheppard and knelt by him. Uncorking one of the water skins, she gently tipped it and dribbled water on Sheppard's lips. "John?"

Sheppard groaned, his head stirring slightly against Rodney's shoulder, before he licked his lips. "W..ter," he whispered.

Teyla looked up at Rodney. "Lift his head."

Rodney obliged and Teyla tipped the waterskin, allowing some water to flow into Sheppard's mouth.

Sheppard's body tensed and, in a surge of strength, he lifted his hands towards the waterskin, thirst driving him. His groan was desperate as he instinctively tried to take in as much water as he could as quickly as he could.

Teyla pulled the waterskin away and squeezed his shoulder, her touch stilling him. "Slowly, John," she insisted, "or it will make you sick. Do you understand me? Slowly."

Gradually, John's gaze cleared as he checked his instincts as much as his condition would allow. His eyes found hers, and he nodded slightly.

Teyla returned the nod and again tipped the waterskin allowing, him a couple of swallows before she pulled it back and capped it.

Ronon watched the exchange, his anger only blunted by his concern for his friend. His gaze fell to the top of Mela's head for a moment, before he lowered the knife and spun the youth around to face him. "You're lucky… this time." Before Mela could comment, Ronon punched him hard in the face, knocking him cold with one shot. With very little gentleness, he lowered Mela to the ground.

Teyla looked up at him and nodded once in approval.

"Don't thank me yet," Ronon muttered as he walked over and knelt next to Sheppard, on the opposite side of Teyla. "I still think we're going to regret it."

"R…grt what? Sheppard whispered.

"Lettin' McKay talk us into coming to this planet in the first place," Ronon answered with dark humor.

"How was I supposed to know there was a crazy, primitive tribe here that would accuse us of sacrilegious acts and try to kill us?"

Something that might have been a chuckle escaped Sheppard's mouth. "Shld've left me," he insisted quietly, mirth fading, "wld've let ya… go."

Ronon's gaze narrowed. "Bullshit," he answered.

"Okay, someone needs to back off on the action movies," Rodney answered. He looked down. "See what you've done, Sheppard? You've corrupted him."

One side of Sheppard's mouth turned up slightly, before another shiver swept through him. He tensed, his teeth chattering. "C.. cold."

Teyla touched his brow. "You are very warm John. It is shock from the heat."

"Y.. yeah," Sheppard managed. "B…burned?"

"Yes," Teyla whispered.

"Sheppard," Ronon's voice softened, "can you stand? We need to move."

"D…nt have… choice…." Sheppard shifted weakly.

Ronon grabbed his arm. "I'll carry you."

"No…" Sheppard protested, but Ronon ignored him. Looking instead at Rodney

"Push him up," he ordered. With Rodney's help, he picked Sheppard up again, and then looked at Teyla.."Lead the way."

----------------------------------------

Rali stared at the severed ropes, his anger swelling. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard had given him his word, and Rali had taken it. The other offworlders would have been let go once their leader was dead; Rali had sworn it. Yet they had acted, and now his tribe's very survival was at risk.

Rali looked towards the cages. Though dawn was close, their presence was still hidden by darkness, but he'd seen their emptiness and had felt fear grip his heart. His eyes flicked to one of his people, who ran up to him.

"Interpreter." The man was slightly breathless. "Anouat is dead. Someone broke his neck."

Rali's eyes slid shut. _And now they have killed one of my tribe…._ After a moment, he opened his eyes and stared hard at the messenger. "They cannot be allowed to escape," he stated flatly. "Their transgression against Those That Came Before cannot go unpunished, or we risk their wrath." He looked up. "First light is soon; that will make finding them easier." Rali pointed at tracks leading away from the spot where he stood. "They went in this direction. Bring me thirty of our most seasoned warriors. We will track them down and kill them…," Rali sighed, "and hope that will appease Those That Came Before." He glared hard at the messenger. "Go," he snapped, watching as the man turned and ran towards the main part of the camp.

---------------------------------------------

Teyla scanned Mela's tracks, her gaze following them towards a stone structure that stood out against the flat desert. She looked back at Ronon before pointing. "There."

Breathing heavily, Ronon smiled. "You were right."

"R…non…" John slurred, "tired…hot…."

Teyla's gaze switched to John's limp form and her smile faded. He seemed to be wavering back and forth between delirium and lucidity. His condition was grave; while they had rescued him, his escape from death still was not a sure thing… but then again, neither were any of their fates.

"Almost there, buddy," Ronon reassured him quietly.

Teyla turned east, her gaze settling on the growing dawn. "He does not need to be in the sun again."

"Yeah, well, neither do we," Rodney answered, his voice hoarse.

Teyla looked back at him, before pulling one of the waterskins off her shoulder and handing it to him. "Take some water, Rodney." She looked at Ronon, who shook his head.

"Don't want to put him down until…" Ronon panted.

Teyla nodded. Ronon was a fit man, maybe even more fit than any of them, but carrying John through sand was taking its toll on him. She looked towards the structure before looking back at him. "It is not far."

Ronon nodded.

Teyla's gaze switched to Rodney in time to see him cork the waterskin and sling it over his shoulder. She furrowed her brows in a questioning way, but he just waved his hand almost aimlessly.

"I got it, okay?" Rodney's tone was almost annoyed, but Teyla smiled slightly. She turned back towards the structure and continued on, leading them towards it.

The sun was well up over the desert when Teyla led them into the structure's shadow. She ran her hand over the rough stone surface. following its wall around and out of the shadows back into the sunlight, looking for an entrance. She smiled as she spotted three rough steps that lead downward before turning a sharp angle.

Raising the crossbow, Teyla approached the steps slowly, looking for any sign of danger.

"Careful," Ronon's words echoed the caution in her actions.

"H…hot…"

John's mumble was barely loud enough for Teyla to hear him, but hear him she did, and the weakness in his voice, weakness of a man normally robust and strong, went straight to her heart. She took a deep breath and looked back. "Wait here."

"Teyla…," Ronon started but Teyla raised her hand.

"I will be fine." She turned and carefully walked down the three steps before turning a sharp corner to her right. The stone steps were weather worn and crumbling, some of them barely resembling steps anymore. An arched doorway was carved into the side of the building and led down into darkness. To her right, the remains of what looked like a pedestal blocked half the stairwell, but she easily navigated around it. Stepping carefully, she made her way downward, her feet slipping on the bits and pieces of the weathered stairs.

At the bottom, she stopped and looked around, trusting her senses to warn her of danger, but her instincts were quiet. She let out a relieved breath and turned back to look up towards the daylight. "It is safe!" she called, waiting until she saw Ronon appear, his large form blocking most of the light. "Be careful, the stairs are damaged."

Ronon nodded and carefully stepped and slipped his way down, Rodney right behind him. Teyla turned away and spotted an unlit torch sitting in a metal basket near the doorway. Next to it, a flint, steel and tinder lay in a small hole in the side of the wall. Teyla grabbed them and quickly lit the torch. She turned around in time to see Ronon settle John against some rubble in the center of the room. She winced at John's weak and broken cry as his badly burned and ravaged back made contact with rough stone.

"Sorry, buddy," Ronon answered. He leaned back and sat down hard, before resting his arms on his bent knees.

Rodney knelt next to him and held out the waterskin. "Here."

"Sheppard," Ronon panted, but didn't reach for the waterskin.

"What, so you're a camel now?" Rodney snapped. "Take it. We have another skin and if I'm right about this place, we'll have all the water we need." He shook the skin emphatically at Ronon, water sloshing invitingly inside it.

Ronon glared at Rodney for a moment, before taking the waterskin and uncorking it. He drank deeply.

Teyla lodged the torch between two pieces of rubble, knelt next to John and gently squeezed his shoulder, wary of his severe burns. "John?"

John's head moved weakly. "Cn't… quit… gotta watch… keep… safe…"

Teyla shifted her hand from John's shoulder to his cheek and stroked it gently. "John," she repeated, "we are safe. You are safe."

"Yeah, verdict might still be out on that one…." Rodney's voice trailed off as Teyla stared hard at him.

"The water source must be close." Teyla sighed. "Can you find it, Rodney?"

"Right. Rodney stood. "Shutting up and finding water now."

Teyla returned her attention to John and uncorked her waterskin. "John, water." She tipped it, splashing a little water on his lips.

John's eyes opened and he looked up at her. "T…yla? He whispered. His gaze refocused on the waterskin. "W…ter."

Teyla smiled and poured a small amount of water in his mouth, which he swallowed immediately. She poured more and he swallowed each mouthful. After several, she pulled back, fearful of making him sick and worsening his condition. Tipping the skin, she took a long drink for herself, before looking up as more light sprang to life in the room. On the opposite side of the chamber from her, she spotted Rodney lighting yet another torch and lodging it into a metal holder on the wall. Her gaze settled on a large stone formation positioned against the opposite wall that looked vaguely like a fountain. "Is that…?"

"Yep, water," Rodney interrupted. "Thought we should at least be able to see what we're doing." He lit yet another torch, placed it in its holder on the wall and looked around, momentarily admiring his handiwork. "That's better."

Teyla nodded her head towards the fountain. "And there is plenty?"

Rodney walked over and splashed his hand in it. "Tons."

Teyla smiled, before she poured water over John's chest and arms. She glanced at Ronon's questioning look. "It will help him stay cool. His resistance to the heat is compromised. He will not be able to stay cool as the day progresses. In his weakened state, that could be very dangerous."

John groaned and tensed. "H…hurts…."

Teyla inhaled deeply, pushing aside her emotions. "I know, John. I am sorry, but it will help." She looked up at Ronon who knelt on the other side of John. "Lift him up." She set down the waterskin and pulled her t-shirt over her head, leaving only her sports bra to cover her. "We need to rinse his wounds. Then we can cover them with my shirt and keep them clean from the rocks." Using her knife, she cut the shirt and ripped it along the seam, opening it up so it would cover his back better.

Ronon nodded and gently took John's arms. "C'mon Sheppard, nice and easy." He lifted, pulling John forward.

John groaned again. "Wha…?"

Teyla craned her head and got her first good look at his back. In many ways, she wished she hadn't. Red and angry lashes covered his back and torso. Where he wasn't cut, the skin was a deep pinkish red and already blistering. Through the blisters, she could see that the next layer of skin was also a hot red color. He was burned very badly and, combined with the numerous deep lacerations, his back was a mangled mess. They'd barely managed to pull him back from life threatening heatstroke and dehydration, but if they didn't get him help soon, there was a strong chance he could die simply from the added effect of the warming day.

"Teyla?"

She looked up, meeting Ronon's questioning gaze. She pressed her lips into a thin line and Ronon nodded slightly before he pulled John forward and rested the colonel's forehead on his shoulder. He looked down at John's back and his expression darkened with anger.

"Water isn't a concern anymore.…" Rodney froze as his gaze fixed on John's back. "Oh God…."

Teyla looked up quickly. "Rodney." She held out her cut up shirt to him. "Please hold this."

Rodney nodded silently and took the shirt.

Teyla took a deep breath and uncorked the waterskin. "John? I am sorry, this will hurt."

"Hurt… team…," John mumbled, his voice muted by Ronon's torso.

Carefully, Teyla tipped the waterskin and poured a small amount of water over John's shoulders and down his back.

John's reaction was instantaneous. He tensed and cried out, his hands reflexively latching onto Ronon's upper arms.

Ronon returned the gesture and grabbed John's elbows, trying to steady him. "Easy, buddy."

Teyla tried to tune out John's cries as she poured more water, letting it rinse down over the burns and the cuts, washing away the dirt and grime and cooling his hot skin. She could see the tension ripple through his back muscles but she held tight to her determination, only stopping when his back was as clean as she could make it. She capped the nearly empty waterskin and held her hand out to Rodney, who handed her the shirt. Carefully, she draped the shirt over John's back. She held onto the top and nodded to Ronon. "Lay him back."

Ronon slowly laid John back against the rubble while Teyla made sure the shirt stayed in place, protecting his back from the stones.

John's body abruptly went limp, his head lolling to one side as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Teyla handed the waterskin to Rodney to be refilled. "That is all we can do for him," she said quietly.

"His back…," Rodney whispered.

Teyla nodded. "I know. He needs medical care."

Ronon stood and walked towards the stairs. "Gonna go watch for trouble. Rali's people know their home. It won't take them much to find our tracks."

"Or Mela," Teyla added. "He will tell them where we have gone."

"Could've killed him," Ronon answered.

Teyla shook her head. "As you said, they still would have found us."

"Yeah." Rodney walked back with the refilled waterskin. "Let's just hope that Lorne and the cavalry get here before Rali and his boys do."

Teyla nodded silently as she watched Ronon disappear up the stairs.

Rali froze, abruptly raising his hand to stop the men behind him as a figure ran across the sand towards him. He squinted and after a moment, was able to make out identifying features. He sighed and nodded, a small smile turning up his mouth, as Mela lurched to a stop in front of him. "Mela, we feared the offworlders had killed you."

Mela inhaled deeply and took a long drink from a waterskin presented to him, before nodding in acknowledgement to Rali. "They captured me on the way back from the well, Interpreter. The woman…," he frowned, "she convinced the big man not to kill me. I am not sure why." He shook his head. "But they revealed their plans to me. They are at the well. They plan to wait there until their people arrive."

Rali furrowed his brows. The big man had killed Anouat; the way his neck was broken so quickly and efficiently left no doubt of that, and yet Mela had been allowed to live. These people and their ways confused him. Rali impatiently pushed aside that confusion and focused on his tribe's redemption and survival. "Then we must reach them before their people do. Mela," he smiled slightly, "my son, are you fit to join us?"

Mela took another drink from the waterskin and nodded. "Yes, father. The honor is mine." He handed the waterskin to one of the warriors, who in turn gave him a spear.

Rali nodded once. "Then, let us finish this." Without another word, he led his warriors off across the sand.

------------------------------------------

"Mr. Woolsey, sir, the storm has passed on M5Y-962."

Richard's hand reflexively cupped his radio, before he pushed back from his desk and briskly walked across the bridge between his office and ops. He stopped in front of Amelia. "Please hail Major Lorne to Ops immediately."

"Already have, sir," Amelia responded.

Richard smiled. "Open a channel to the planet please." He turned and crossed ops to the balcony overlooking the active Stargate.

"Channel open, sir."

Richard tapped his headset. "Colonel Sheppard this is Atlantis. Please respond." He took a deep breath and waited as the silence lingered. Turning, he looked back at Amelia, who shrugged.

"Signal is getting through, sir. I can't detect any interference."

Richard looked back at the gate. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Atlantis. Do you read me?" He shook his head at the silence before walking back to Amelia's station. "Can you connect to the MALP?"

"Connecting now," Amelia's hands flew over her laptop keyboard.

"Mr. Woolsey, sir, what's going on?" Lorne ascended the last couple stairs on the back stairwell and walked across Ops.

"Major." Richard nodded once. "The sandstorm on M5Y-962 has finally moved on, but we're unable to reach Colonel Sheppard's team on the radio. We're connecting to the MALP right now." He looked down at Amelia, who nodded.

"Link established, sir," Amelia answered. "The MALP still seems somewhat functional, which is a miracle considering what sand does to technology."

Richard looked to the hanging screen at the back of ops and squinted. Bright sunlight greeted his gaze, but the image was fuzzy at best. "Can you clean that up any?"

"No, sir." Amelia shook her head. "We're lucky to have any video feed at all. The MALP's systems are pretty beat up."

"At least we can confirm that the storm's passed." Lorne watched the screen for one more moment, before turning to face Woolsey. "There's no reason why they wouldn't respond now, if they could. They have to be in some kind of trouble. Request permission to lead a team offworld to find them, sir."

Richard nodded. "Granted. Take a Jumper."

Lorne smiled. "Was thinkin' the same thing." Stepping around Woolsey, he headed for the back stairs.

Richard could hear him barking orders in his headset as he disappeared down the stairwell. He looked at Amelia. "Keep trying to hail Colonel Sheppard's team." He didn't wait for a response as he walked back to the balcony and looked down at the gate. _So much for the routine reconnaissance mission._

He didn't think he'd been standing there long, maybe ten minutes, so he was surprised when the Jumper bay doors suddenly opened, and a Jumper slowly descended into the gate room. He tapped his headset. "Major, given the circumstances, I want an update in one hour."

"Copy that," Lorne responded.

"Good luck, Major." Richard watched as the Jumper accelerated through the wormhole.

----------------------------

_"So, you think you're going to be there to watch their backs again? To save them when they need to be saved?"_

_Pawing his way up a sand dune, John paused and looked up. "What?"_

_"What makes you think you can save them, when you didn't save me?" Arms crossed over his chest, Abrams stared down at John. "You left Brendan and me alone! In a Hive! The Wraith found us and fed on me! I died! He died! We both… DIED!" His voice had risen to a shout._

_"I didn't know," John muttered, as he struggled to crest the dune. "No life signs. There was no way we could've known a Wraith had survived for ten thousand years!" Reaching the top of the dune, John sat back on his heels, his hands resting on his bent knees. He looked up at Abrams. "Don't think a day goes by where I don't regret my decision." _

_Unmoving, Abrams stared at him. "Your regret doesn't change the fact that I'm dead. So, before you decide you need to go back to watch out for your team, think on that." His gaze narrowed in anger. "Why don't you just die already?" _

_John looked away, fighting the helpless feeling that threatened to overwhelm him. Suddenly, everyone he'd lost; every regret he had, every misstep, made itself painfully known to him. _

_Was Abrams right? _

_"Don't you __**dare**__ give up."_

_John's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach at the unmistakable voice that compelled him to listen. He looked up. "Elizabeth?" His tone was incredulous._

_The hardness around her features softened just a bit, and a small, fond smile touched her mouth. "John." _

_He looked away, the sting of regret still aching. "I lost you too," he whispered. _

_"No." Elizabeth knelt next to him. "That was my choice." _

_He looked over at her. "I couldn't save you." His brows furrowed in pained frustration. "I was ten feet away, and I still couldn't save you." With a surge of strength he pounded one fist in the sand. "If anyone should think I failed, it should be you!" _

_"No." Elizabeth's tone was firm. "You saved Atlantis and everyone in the city, John. My sacrifice was my choice, and you couldn't change it, no matter how much you wanted to." She shook her head. "Just like your team is choosing to save you now, or die trying. That's a choice they've made, and one you can't change. I think you owe it to them not to make their choice a vain one, just as you made sure mine wasn't." _

_John stared deeply into her green eyes, his mind reeling over the shift in perspective that his sense of duty… and even, he admitted, his stubbornness tried to deny to him. Resolution replaced guilt and he nodded. "Yeah." _

_Elizabeth's smile widened. "That's the John Sheppard I know." _

_John looked away, put a hand down and pushed himself to his feet. When he turned back, she was gone…._

----------------------------

"..lizbth…"

Teyla's brows furrowed and she gently squeezed John's shoulder. "John?"

Slowly, John's eyes opened. "T..yla…." one side of his mouth lifted slightly. "C…ame fr… me…."

A fond smile pulled at Teyla's mouth. His voice was weak, but still there was a note of sincerity to it; words and a tone that spoke of deep commitment that she believed, surprised even him. "Yes. We would not leave you behind."

"Though you didn't exactly make it easy on us," Rodney groused as he knelt on the other side of John.

What might have been a weak chuckle escaped John's mouth. "M…kay…."

Teyla grabbed the waterskin. "Here. Drink." She uncorked it and slowly tipped it over his slightly parted lips.

John's left hand shook as he rested it on the side of the skin. After a couple of swallows, he pulled back. "You… guys?" he asked, his voice slightly clearer.

"We are fine. The well here has plenty of water and we have all drunk our fill." She lifted the skin again. "Take more, John."

He nodded weakly and again rested his hand on the side of the skin. After several more swallows he pulled back. "Good," he muttered.

Teyla corked the waterskin and set it aside. Gently, she ran a hand down his cheek. "You're much cooler. How do you feel?"

John breathed deeply. "Like… shit. Nauseous… my back… on fire…." He winced and grunted quietly. "Hurts…."

"Your back is badly burned," Teyla explained gently. "And the lashes…."

"I… get it…," John interrupted weakly. He tried a small smile again. "…'M alive." He moved his head a little and looked around. "Ro…non?"

"Standing watch," Rodney answered. "Somehow I don't think Rali's people are just going to let us go without trouble."

"We are hoping that a rescue team reaches us before the natives do," Teyla added. She looked up as, on the heels of her words, Ronon rounded the corner and slid down the stairs. "Rali's people." He grabbed a crossbow and loaded a bolt.

"Oh, that's just great." Rodney stood. "Any sign of a Jumper?"

Ronon paused and looked up long enough to shake his head. He grabbed several more bolts and set them behind a large piece of rubble, before taking cover not far from John.

Teyla sighed, before steeling herself for the inevitable battle. She grabbed the remaining crossbow and handed Rodney a knife.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Rodney stared at the knife, before throwing her a dark look.

Teyla knelt next to John. "Defend yourself," she answered, before looking down, movement catching her eye as John struggled to sit up.

"Help me… up…" John's arms shook before giving out and he fell back against the rubble, crying out as his back impacted hard against the stone.

"John, no." Teyla put a restraining hand on his chest. "You do not have the strength."

"H..ve to…." John struggled., "dangr…"

"Sheppard, don't make me come over there and sit on you," Ronon growled.

"Lie still, and be a good colonel," Rodney added. He looked down. "Seriously, you can't… and you know it."

John's head fell back against the rubble in resignation. "Damn…."

Teyla looked away from him and towards Ronon as she heard him shift his weight a half second before she heard voices outside.

"They're coming." Ronon's voice was flat.

Teyla's gaze focused on the doorway, adrenaline surging through her in anticipation of the coming fight. But instead of warriors tumbling down the stairs, the echo of a strong voice flowed down to them.

"We know that you are in there. You must pay for your transgressions. We will be merciful if you surrender."

Teyla inhaled deeply. "Rali."

"Son… btch…," John added.

"Among other things," Rodney muttered.

"Answer me!" Rali insisted. "I have thirty of my best warriors out here! Surrender and I give you my word that your ends will be swift and painless."

"Do we answer?" Rodney whispered.

Teyla looked over at Ronon, whose gaze narrowed dangerously. She'd seen that look before, and knew what his reply would be, before he said it.

"The first one that comes down those stairs gets an arrow in his chest." Ronon's tone was flat and emotionless. "Then he'll have his answer."

"Give 'm… me…"

"No," Teyla looked down at John. "Even if we were willing to do such a thing," she reasoned, locking gazes with him, "I believe we are past the point where that would suffice."

"This is your last chance," Rali shouted. "I will not ask again!"

Teyla held John's gaze for one more moment. In his eyes, she saw resignation, oddly mixed with resolution, all overshadowed by a deep fondness. She smiled slightly.

Slowly, John's mouth curved up just a bit, as he returned the gesture.

Teyla shifted her attention back to the open stairwell and waited. Silence shrouded them as even Rodney chose to remain quiet, but the feeling was still one of comfort to her. Words, it seemed, weren't needed. Taking a deep breath, Teyla braced herself for the coming fight.


	3. Chapter 3

Lorne pulled the Jumper into an ascent as soon as he exited the Stargate into the bright sunshine. He sent a quick mental command and the HUD appeared across the windshield.

"Scanning for their transmitters," Major Teldy informed him from the co-pilot's seat as she tapped a couple controls. Four blips instantly appeared on the display. "That's them, Lorne. They're five miles south of here."

"What the hell are they doing way out there?" Lorne wondered as he banked towards the readings.

"We can ask them when we get there," Teldy responded. "What the…?"

Lorne squinted at the display as several dots appeared, surrounding the four transmitter signals. "Life signs."

"Looks like at least two dozen surrounding their position," Teldy added.

Lorne keyed communications. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Major Lorne, please respond." He looked up and listened for a moment, before exchanging somber looks with Teldy. "Colonel Sheppard this is Major Lorne, do you copy?"

"There's nothing out there to interfere with communications. That we can tell, anyway," Teldy voiced what Lorne was thinking.

Lorne nodded silently and kicked the Jumper into overdrive. "Be there in a few minutes."

------------------------------

Ronon stared hard over the top of his crossbow, his gaze narrowing on the bright stairwell. This fight had been coming for a while now, and even if they could avoid it, which he doubted, he wasn't in the mood to. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sheppard's limp form and his anger only deepened. For so many years as a Runner, he'd been a loner, never letting himself get close to anyone, because of the curse that followed him. When he came to Atlantis, he found that old habits died hard, but his team, Sheppard especially, had slowly chipped away at his protective shield. He'd resisted at first, reflexively, but Sheppard had taken it in stride. And one day, Ronon had woken up to find he was surrounded by not just a group of acquaintance but by friends, comrades… brothers and sisters in arms. Since then, Ronon had slowly come to realize that, in his life, he'd never had a better friend than Sheppard. That had sparked a very deep and very intense loyalty in him that, while it went unspoken, made itself known. Sheppard might watch all of their backs, and put his life on the line for them, but the day Ronon had realized what kind of a friend Sheppard was to him, was the day he'd sworn to himself that, while Sheppard safeguarded the team's safety, he'd always safeguard Sheppard's, whether the colonel realized and wanted it… or not.

And yet, on this planet, he'd been forced to watch as Sheppard was beaten and left for dead, all the while never being able to lift a finger to stop it. Killing the native to allow him to free Rodney and Teyla so they could all free Sheppard had, in a dark way, felt good to Ronon. He was a Satedan warrior and, within that code, safeguarding his friends, family and those he cared for justified killing.

His gaze narrowed as shadows heralded movement just beyond the stairs. "Here they come," he whispered, before leveling the crossbow at the stairwell. "I got the first one. Teyla, take the second one while I reload. We'll alternate until we're out of bolts, or we're overrun."

"What then?" McKay whispered. "Because somehow, I think both of those outcomes are inevitable."

Ronon paused and looked at McKay. "We fight."

"T…ime to use the m…moves Ronon's be..en teachin'…ya," Sheppard managed.

Ronon refocused his sights on the stairs as the first native charged down, yelling, his companions right behind him. Ronon fired, and on the heels of his shot, Teyla also fired. Each of their bolts took down a warrior, but more kept coming. Ronon got off one more shot before another native leaped over the rubble and tackled him.

The crossbow flew from Ronon's hands as he latched onto the wrist of his attacker, preventing the warrior from plunging a long, wicked knife into his chest. Ronon's other hand took him by the neck and the warrior grunted and grabbed his wrist, while still trying to push the knife blade down on him. Ronon squeezed hard and pushed the man away from him, before rolling to the side. The warrior's expression turned to one of shock as he abruptly found himself underneath Ronon's weight. Weakened by lack of air, he was no match for Ronon's size and strength. Twisting the hand that held the knife, Ronon pushed down, plunging the blade deep into the warrior's chest.

He didn't wait to be sure the man was dead; the fighter within him just knew. Instead, he rolled sideways, taking the blood covered knife with him as he let his momentum carry him to his feet. He looked up, and clenched his teeth as more of Rali's warriors ran down the stairs. He and his team were massively outnumbered but, as his gaze narrowed, Ronon vowed they… he wouldn't go down without a fight.

-----------------------------

"There!" Teldy exclaimed as she pointed emphatically.

Lorne stared hard, before stiffening in alarm as he watched armed men mill around and charge down a set of steps into the structure. "They **really** don't look friendly." He pushed the Jumper into a steep descent, rapidly eating up the distance between them and the natives.

"No, they don't." Teldy looked back into the body of the Jumper. "Mehra! Unfriendlies!"

"You heard the Major!" Sergeant Mehra snapped at the remaining men, her voice commanding. "Lock and load!"

"What the hell is going on?" Teldy reached down and grabbed her own P-90 to prep it.

"No idea," Lorne muttered, "but it doesn't matter. Those are our people in there, and we're going to get them out."

--------------------------------------------

John flinched as his team, even Rodney, engaged the enemy. He struggled to sit up, but his weakened body refused to cooperate. He could hear the scuffle of feet and knew more and more of Rali's men were flooding the chamber. No matter how well they fought, his team would be overwhelmed before long, and all he could do was lie there helplessly and watch. He froze as a native ran past Rodney, locked in a struggle with another of Rali's warriors and stopped in front of him. The man slowly lifted his crossbow and aimed it at John. Spite filled John's expression as he pushed himself up on his elbows and stared back at the warrior with as much anger and defiance as he could muster. "… have a… saying," he managed. "Y…ou can kill me… but y…you can't… eat me…."

The warrior's brows furrowed for a moment, before he sighted down the crossbow, directly at John.

John mustered what strength he had and kicked out at the warrior, but his kick was weak at best and the man easily avoided it before again aiming at him.

"Sheppard!"

John heard Ronon's frustrated shout and wished he could say something… anything to reassure his friend, but he realized that, even if he had the strength, no words would suffice. His world narrowed down to the crossbow and the man tightening his finger on the trigger.

Rapid movement from his right intruded on his focused sight as, in the last second before the warrior fired, something bowled into the man, knocking him to the ground.

John felt himself propelled backwards into the rubble as a fiery stab of pain pierced his shoulder. Then his head impacted hard against stone and darkness took him.

------------------------------------------------------------

"NO!" Ronon watched as the crossbow bolt buried itself in Sheppard's shoulder and threw him back against the rubble, even as McKay went down in a tangle with the warrior he'd tacked to try to stop the shot. Pain and anger gripped Ronon, and he turned back towards the three warriors advancing on him. Holding the knife firmly, he shouted, his cry almost animalistic in its savage tone as he charged them. But, as he moved, something nagged at his instincts; in an instant, he knew that, in his anger, he hadn't seen the whole picture. Turning, Ronon tried to lunge away as a fourth native, who'd jumped up on the rubble, fired his crossbow.

Searing pain ripped through Ronon's left thigh as his leg buckled, but he stayed on his feet through sheer willpower. Distantly, he heard Teyla call his name in alarm, but he didn't have the time or the energy to spare her an answer. Shifting his weight to his good leg, he spun, blocked the blow of an attacking warrior and buried his knife in the man's chest. Grabbing the sword from the man's limp hand before letting him fall, Ronon parried the next blow aimed at his head and swung the sword around, catching his attacker in the throat. He ducked to the side, barely avoiding another blow, and took a deep slice to his bicep for his effort. Grunting, he staggered and his wounded leg betrayed him. But instead of fighting the fall, Ronon embraced it, rolling as he hit the ground and sweeping his attacker's feet out from under him. Before the man could react, Ronon had swung his sword around and delivered a killing blow.

He looked up, watching as Teyla dispatched one of the warrior attacking McKay, before standing side by side with him to face even more fighters. Ronon refocused his dark gaze on four more of Rali's men who approached him cautiously. He took a small amount of comfort in their hesitation. Even wounded, he'd still proven himself to be lethal, and they respected that. In the no win battle in which he found himself, Ronon accepted that small victory. Holding tightly to the sword, he glared back as they advanced on him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Rali felt the blood drain from his face and his vision swam as he struggled to process what he was seeing. Before him was the unmistakable form of the craft he'd only seen in drawings: the ship that carried Those That Came Before. There could be no mistake, though he could scarcely believe it.

At that moment, he drew on his training, his conditioning as an Interpreter, to support him even though he was numbed by shock. As with each Interpreter that had preceded him, he had been schooled on what to do on the day Those That Came Before returned, though never in his life had he expected to meet them. His reaction, honed by his training, was almost reflexive. He inhaled sharply and threw his hands in the air. "Stop!" he commanded.

Around him, warriors instantly froze. Rali spun, his gaze locking with the first warrior in his sight. "Stop the ones below! If the offworlders still live, Those That Came Before will decide their fate. It is no longer our place. Those That Came Before have returned to us, and we are their servants!"

The warrior nodded. From around his neck, he lifted a bone whistle which he blew sharply, signaling the retreat to the fighters below.

Rali turned back to the ship and watched it settle to the ground, before the back slowly opened. Without hesitation, he fell to his knees, spread his arms and bowed his head in unquestioned servitude while, behind him, every warrior duplicated his actions.

-----------------------------------------

Teyla straightened slightly in confusion as a piercing whistle echoed through the room. Immediately, their attackers withdrew, backing cautiously towards the stairs in an apparent retreat. When the last of them had disappeared back up the stairs, she looked to her left where Ronon pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for support.

"What the hell?" he panted.

"They had us dead to rights," Rodney whispered. "Why would they stop now?"

Teyla looked down at John's motionless form. "John?" She took two quick steps and knelt next to him. The crossbow bolt was lodged in his shoulder just below his collarbone and blood streamed down his torso to drip in the dirt. She pressed her fingers into his throat, before looking up at Rodney. "He is alive. Your shirt."

Rodney swallowed hard. "Right." He quickly pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to her.

Teyla took the shirt and pressed it against the wound, careful not to disturb the bolt. She waved vaguely in Ronon's direction. "Ronon…." Her eyes widened as she watched Ronon grab onto the bolt. "Ronon, no! Leave it!"

"Can't move with this thing in my leg," Ronon protested through clenched teeth.

"So you're going to pull it out?" Rodney's voice was incredulous as he hurried towards him. "That's the most idiotic idea you've had in a long string of idiotic ideas! You could kill yourself doing that! Besides, Keller will whip Teyla and me with a cat-o'-nine-tails if we let you do it, so don't! That's an order!"

Ronon froze for a second before he looked at Rodney, his expression disbelieving. "An order?"

Rodney shrugged. "Yeah, well it sounded good at the time." He pointed at the crossbow bolt. "Leave it alone."

Teyla watched as Ronon stared hard at Rodney for a moment, before he nodded once and removed his hand. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and ripped off a large strip, which he bound around the bolt. He met gazes with her. "Sheppard?"

Teyla sighed. "He is alive."

"For now," Rodney muttered. "Somehow, I think our friends will be back soon."

Teyla could only nod silently. She'd managed to stem the bleeding but, once Rali's men decided to attack again, she had a sinking feeling bleeding from his wound would be the least of John's worries.

------------------------------------

Lorne grabbed his P-90 and wove through the press of bodies in the back of the Jumper until he was in the lead. Holding the gun securely, he reached out and tapped the hatch release. Behind him, he heard scattered clicks as safeties were flipped off and guns were raised.

What he saw, as the hatch settled to the ground, wasn't exactly what he'd expected. Rooted in place, he glanced to his right and exchanged a brief, confused look with Teldy, before he slowly walked down the ramp, Teldy, Mehra and the group of Marines right behind him. As his boots hit sand, he stopped and stared at the natives, all on their knees and all with their heads bowed. "Hello?" he asked, cautiously. He watched as one of the natives, positioned in front of the others, raised his hands over his head, before prostrating himself in the sand.

"Holy One," the native said, his voice muffled. "For generations we have awaited your return."

Lorne's gaze narrowed at the man's reaction. While encouraging people to worship them was the last thing he wanted to do, he'd also seen how aggressive they'd been right before they'd decided that him and his team were sacred. Colonel Sheppard's team was somewhere close; by their radio silence, and the presence of these warriors, Lorne was pretty sure they were in trouble. Playing along, at least initially, could avoid a fight and could get them to their people faster.

"Holy…?" Mehra started.

Lorne turned his head sharply and shook it, his gesture silencing her. He looked back at the bowing native. "What's going on here?"

The native slowly lifted his head, but kept his eyes averted from Lorne's. "The ones below, they desecrated your temple. The leader, he told us they had done it by mistake, but transgressions on your sacred ground must be atoned for without exception. The leader, he gave himself in sacrifice for the rest of his people, but they did not heed his orders and all escaped before the desert could take him. We pursued them, to make them pay for their offense." He drew in a shaky breath, "I only hope that we do not fall from your favor for this, Holy One. I have tried my best to lead my people in service to you."

Lorne took a deep breath and tried to process everything he'd heard as quickly as possible. If he'd doubted whether or not they should play along with these people's beliefs before, he didn't now. The situation was perilous, at best: the instant these people figured out that him and his team weren't actually Ancients, they'd be fighting for their lives. "Stand up," he said.

The man slowly stood, but still kept his eyes averted.

"What's your name?" Lorne asked.

"Rali, Holy One. I am the Interpreter for my tribe. We are your servants."

Lorne nodded slightly. "Rali, the ones below trespassed on the temple by mistake, you said?"

"Yes, Holy One. I was torn as to the punishment for them, but I feared that we would fall from your graces if we allowed the transgression to go unpunished. I feared that you would take the Shezta herds from us. Without them, my tribe would surely die."

Lorne stared at the man's averted face for a moment and shook his head slightly. He glanced at Teldy, who raised her eyebrows in equal disbelief. He turned back to Rali. "Their mistake was honest," he said quietly. "They're not to be punished any more. We'll go get them, and take them away, and you will let us."

"Holy One?" Rali's voice was slightly questioning.

"Look at me," Lorne said firmly. When Rali met his gaze, Lorne continued. "Your anger's misguided. They're part of our people and you will let them go." Lorne held Rali's gaze, and his breath. He was taking a risk, and he knew it, but short of killing all these natives, he didn't think he had another option for freeing Sheppard's team.

Rali's expression turned to one of shock before he dropped to his knees. "Then we have surely fallen from your graces, Holy One, for the leader, he is gravely injured."

Lorne's eyes widened, and he looked over his shoulder. "Mehra!" he snapped.

Mehra immediately motioned at the three Marines behind her and ran forward past the prostrate warriors and down into the structure, the Marines flanking her.

"Please, Holy One." Rali's voice held a note of desperation. "I was only trying to follow in your ways. If you must punish someone, punish me, but I beg that you spare my tribe."

Despite his concern over Colonel Sheppard, Lorne sighed. "I'm not going to punish you," he answered. "But this was an honest mistake by peaceful visitors, and you should've let them go. In the future, if you're not sure, show compassion, not violence."

Rali looked up. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard said something similar, but we did not listen." He nodded once. "Your words will be heeded, Holy One. Word will be sent to the Interpreters of every one of the Seven Tribes of the Shu'nat."

Anxious to find out the status of Sheppard's team, and to avoid encouraging any more mistaken beliefs among Rali's people, Lorne nodded once, curtly. "Go."

Rali waved at his men and, as one, the group took off across the sand at a brisk pace.

Lorne didn't waste any more time as he ran towards the entrance to the structure, Teldy and the remaining Marines right behind him. He quickly trotted down the stairs; at the bottom, he spied Sheppard's motionless form and headed directly for him. Teyla and Rodney stood a short distance away, while Mehra knelt next to Sheppard, hastily applying a pressure bandage around a crossbow bolt lodged in his shoulder. Lorne looked to the far side of the chamber, where another Marine was giving similar treatment to Ronon's leg. Lorne met Ronon's gaze and nodded once, a gesture the Satedan returned, before he looked back at Teyla. "You guys okay?"

Teyla smiled slightly. "Rodney and I are well enough, but the Colonel…."

"He's stable," Mehra said briskly, before she added more uncertainly, "I think."

"Beware of his back," Teyla said quietly. "Rali's people beat him and left him to die in the sun. His back is cut and severely burned. He is also suffering from heatstroke and still severely dehydrated."

"Should've killed those sons of bitches, sir." Mehra looked up at Lorne, anger apparent on her face.

"Not now, Mehra," Teldy snapped. She waved at a couple of Marines. "Johnson, Simms, get the stretcher from the Jumper. Double time it."

The two Marines immediately raced up the stairs.

Lorne tore his eyes from Sheppard and looked up. "Ronon?"

"I'm good."

"Right," Rodney muttered, "only you would be 'good' with a crossbow bolt lodged in your leg."

Lorne shifted his gaze to the Marine helping Ronon. "Hendricks?"

"I got it handled, sir," Hendricks replied.

"Rali and his people?" Teyla asked.

"They took one look at the Jumper and figured we were Ancients," Lorne answered. "Did whatever we told them to do."

"Knew we should've brought a Jumper," Rodney groused.

"N…o way… t'… know…" Sheppard muttered.

Lorne looked down at Sheppard's half-open eyes and watched as the Colonel slowly turned his head and fixed his gaze on Mehra.

"Sarge," Sheppard said quietly.

Mehra nodded once and smiled slightly. "Sir."

"Hang in there, Colonel," Lorne added. "We're gonna get you back to Atlantis."

"Others…" Sheppard tried to move, but froze with a pained grunt.

"Don't make me sit on you, sir," Mehra said, firmly but gently.

"They're fine, Colonel," Lorne reassured him, "Ronon's a little banged up, but he'll be okay."

"Rodney and I are fine as well, John," Teyla confirmed. "Just rest."

Johnson and Simms slid back down the stairs, carrying a stretcher between them, which they sat next to Sheppard.

"Alright, sir." Lorne knelt next to Mehra and Teldy as they worked with Johnson and Simms to lift Sheppard into the stretcher. "Time to blow this popsicle stand."

"P'scle…," Sheppard muttered. "Sounds… r'lly good…"

"For once, I agree with you," Rodney muttered.

Lorne slipped his hands under Sheppard's shoulder, wincing as the colonel grunted in pain. He could feel the wounds through the tattered shirt and, without seeing, could tell how badly beaten and burned the Colonel's back was just by Sheppard's reaction. For a moment, he agreed with Mehra: they should've killed the natives for this. Then he took a deep breath and pushed away the thought. Rali's people were misguided and, while it almost cost Sheppard's team their lives, he couldn't in good conscience condone wholesale slaughter in retribution. They weren't Genii, damn it. Carefully, he helped the others lower Sheppard into the stretcher.

He straightened and stepped around the stretcher. "Get the Colonel to the Jumper," he ordered, as he headed for Hendricks and Ronon.. e Stopping next to Ronon, he grabbed one of his arms and threw it over his shoulder, while Hendricks did the same on the other side. Lorne paused for a minute and met Ronon's gaze. "Yeah, I know, you're good. Humor me?"

One side of Ronon's mouth turned up slightly and he nodded.

"Keep your weight off it," Lorne insisted. "Let's move."

No more than a few minutes later, Lorne was easing the Jumper off the ground and heading for the Stargate. As the wormhole flushed into existence, he took a deep breath in relief. It was more than time for all of them to get the hell off this planet.

-----------------------------------

_"See? I knew you could do it."_

_John's gaze fixed for a moment on the not so distant buildings of Kandahar Air Base, before he smiled slightly and looked over at Elizabeth. "You never get tired of being right, do you?"_

_Elizabeth grinned. "Not at all. " Her smile faded. "I wasn't always right," she added quietly._

_John sighed and nodded. "None of us were… are." His gaze grew distant as he again looked towards the airbase. Wrong decisions had cost all of them dearly. Missteps, well intentioned or not, had cost them lives, people they…people he couldn't get back. That was something he carried, and would carry for the rest of his life. It was something that drove him to make the decisions about his life that he made; decisions he'd never second guess or apologize for. _

_"Watch out for them, John." Elizabeth squeezed his upper arm. "Your dedication to life makes you the man you are… the commanding officer you are, but don't ever forget that the people you that you trust also share your values. When you need help, let them help you, just as you'd help them." She smiled. "Just as you helped me." _

_John smiled a little and nodded. "Point taken." He looked back to the base for a moment, before glancing her direction, only to find that she'd disappeared. With a deep breath he started down the last sand dune towards the airbase…._

"Colonel?"

Groaning quietly, John arched his brows and peeled his gritty eyelids open. It took a moment for him to register the face smiling down at him, but when he did, he attempted a half smile of his own. "Doc," he whispered, before coughing weakly against a dry throat.

Keller's smile deepened. "Welcome back." She held a cup out to him and helped him take a few ice chips. "These should help."

John sucked on the ice, relishing their cold as the chips melted in his mouth. "Good." A flash of pain made him grunt, and his reaction wasn't lost on Keller.

"Take it easy," she whispered. "You're pretty banged up, but you're going to be okay."

John nodded slightly. "Team?"

"Banged up too, but not as bad as you are. They're fine, Colonel, don't worry. Just get some rest, okay?"

"…kay…" John's eyelids felt heavy. The last thing he saw, before he surrendered to the darkness, was Keller's reassuring gaze.

--------------------------------------

**Epilogue:**

Through the multicolored stained-glass window, John could just make out the shadow of a form leaning on the railing of the Deck just outside of Ops.

"Good to see you up and about, Colonel."

John stopped in his route across the command center and turned and smiled at Amelia. "Good to be out of that damned infirmary. Don't have much time though. If I'm not back in thirty minutes, Keller'll hunt me down. At that point, I'm not sure I'll want to be found." He grimaced slightly, and lifted his left arm, bound in a sling, a little.

Amelia chuckled quietly. "Yes, sir."

John gestured with his right hand towards the exterior balcony door. "Woolsey?"

"Yes, sir," Amelia repeated.

John nodded once. "Thanks." He crossed Ops and waved his hand over the door crystal, stepping out into the fresh ocean air when the door opened.

Woolsey straightened and turned to face him. "Colonel. Didn't expect to see you here." He pointed at John's sling. "How's the shoulder?"

John looked down at the bandage. "Stiff, sore and annoying. Start PT next week. Right now, I'm on parole," he explained, with a quick smile. "For thirty minutes at least. Keller said something about needing a half hour of peace…." His voice trailed off into a mischievous smile.

Woolsey chuckled. "I don't envy Dr. Keller with both you and Ronon in the infirmary."

John arched his brows. "Us? We're angels. Besides, both of us get released in a couple days, as soon as the Ancient scanner shows Keller whatever it is she wants to see of how much we're healing."

Woolsey's gaze narrowed. "Hmm…." He took a deep breath. "I was just thinking about your natives on M5Y-962."

John furrowed his brows. "What about them?"

Woolsey ran one hand along the railing. "I'm not sure how I feel about our people impersonating deities off world, Colonel."

John sighed. "Lorne did what he had to do to keep his team alive, and to get mine out alive as well. I'm not going to stand here and second-guess what he did, and I'm not going to ask him to apologize for it either." He stared hard at Woolsey, who looked down at his hand and idly brushed a patch of dirt off the railing. Unapologetic, John let the silence linger.

Abruptly, Woolsey withdrew his hand, turned and faced John. His half smile was slightly mocking and a bit cynical. It caught John by surprise, but he kept his peace, and his confident expression.

"When I was an IOA advisor, senior staff reports from Atlantis crossed my desk frequently, Colonel." Woolsey's smile faded as his expression turned as unapologetic as John's.

John continued holding his tongue. _Here it comes…._

"Your… actions usually left me annoyed, irritated and, frankly, skeptical of your ability, decisions and effectiveness as the military commander of Atlantis, in spite of glowing reports by Dr. Weir and Colonel Carter." Woolsey's gaze narrowed. "And you didn't exactly instill any confidence in me on those rare occasions I had to deal directly with you, Colonel. In fact, you did your best to be a royal pain in the ass."

John arched his brows. In the months Woolsey had been here, John had learned the man was straight forward and to the point, something John could respect, but he was still taken by surprise at the outright bluntness of Woolsey's comment. "Yes, I did," he answered, not bothering to hide his cynical tone. "Bureaucrats get in the way, and are a distraction, usually at a time we don't need to **be **distracted. In fact…."

"Let me finish," Woolsey interrupted.

John snapped his mouth shut, surprise at Woolsey's strong tone silencing him. After a moment, he nodded, pressing his lips together and bracing himself for the coming criticism. It was always the same: administrators second-guessing every step made. He'd watched the IOA tear Weir apart on a routine basis and, after her, Carter. He knew, without asking, that both of them had shielded him from most of the comments made about his actions, though some did get through. Now, he had no barrier between him and the bureaucracy and, frankly, he wasn't in the mood for one either. _Bring it on…._

"I may have been mistaken," Woolsey said quietly, all the hardness of command gone from his voice. He took a deep breath. "Colonel, you **are** rebellious, unorthodox and really are an occasional pain in the ass, but Weir and Carter were both right: you are the best man for the job."

John blinked, and then blinked again, all the anger dissolving into disbelief. His gaze narrowed for a second as he tried to judge the level of sincerity in Woolsey's words, an action not lost on the base commander.

"Yes, Colonel, I mean it," Woolsey answered. When John's expression turned even more surprised, Woolsey actually chuckled. "I used to be a lawyer and IOA bureaucrat. I've gotten very good at reading people."

John cleared his throat. "Well, um… uh… thanks." He cocked his head slightly. "What brought this on? Not that I'm not glad that I'm not going to be sent packing back to Earth in the immediate future…."

Woolsey held onto a small smile. "I just thought that it was time that the point was made perfectly clear. And… recent events have really driven the point home with me." He turned and leaned both elbows on the Deck railing as he again looked out over the ocean

"Oh?" John walked over and joined him. Mindful of his injured shoulder, he rested his good elbow carefully on the railing.

"Your team's loyalty, Colonel," Woolsey answered, "and I don't just mean your immediate team, though it's most prominent in them, but also the entire military contingent and most of the senior ranking civilians." He looked sideways at John. "I've found that sort of cohesiveness is more a product of the leader than anything else." He smiled slightly. "It speaks highly of your ability, John."

John flushed slightly and looked away as he scratched his head in embarrassment. He never liked to be in the spotlight, whether it was in front of one person or one hundred. "They're good people," he answered, before looking out over the ocean, not willing to make eye contact with Woolsey.

"Yes, they are," Woolsey agreed.

John could feel Woolsey' still looking sideways at him, but he didn't meet his gaze and, after a moment, Woolsey looked away.

"You all are," he added.

A smile pulled at John's mouth and he couldn't resist it. Only a couple of months ago, he'd doubted Woolsey's ability to command, but now he felt comfortable laying those doubts to rest. Not just because the two of them had found common ground, but because he felt the man had a good grasp on what it was like to live on Atlantis, and what it sometimes took to survive here. Both of which were, more often than not, a long walk from what the IOA believed should be the case.

His thoughts turned to Woolsey's words, and recent events. His team had taught him something that, while he suspected he'd known it deep down, he'd never really acknowledged. When he'd formed his team, he'd picked the people _he_ thought were best for the job. They were all individuals, but by default it meant they shared a lot of his values. He'd just never recognized the willingness to give their lives for each other was one of those values. Hell, he'd seen Ronon flat out do it a couple years ago. Would he give his life for his team again? Absolutely and without hesitation. But, somewhere inside, he drew comfort from the fact that his team would do the same for him. Whether he'd let them was another story, but to know they'd do it was all the comfort he needed.

He glanced at Woolsey for a minute and smiled to himself, before looking back out over the ocean. He had ten minutes before he had to report back to the infirmary, and he intended on taking every second of that to enjoy the moment of peace he'd been given.

~End~


End file.
